Molly Patterson

“It became a routine: after feeding the cows and hogs, he’d wrap himself up in scarped and don another sweater and then retreat upstairs with his paints and paper. On the coldest days, he’d come down every half hour or so to let his fingers thaw out. Then he’d go back upstairs to continue this work that no one had asked for, work that he did only because there was a part of him that was tuned to the frequency of beauty rather than of usefulness…”
― Molly Patterson, Rebellion