Status Updates From A Working Mother

‘—we rushed—like lemmings heading for oblivion—On Monday—I didn’t want to rise—didn’t want to cook breakfast—I wanted to—eat rolls, then stroll through the park—sit when I felt like it—walk when I felt like it. I wanted to be alone—free. ‘Time to get up,’ said Adam, turning off the alarm—Animals are much more direct. They fight it out straight away & the best animal wins—Human behaviour, my dear—is very complicated.’

‘—upset by memories of lost umbrellas. I remembered a particularly nice one—Inevitably I lost it—mourned for it—it rained all day–At that moment it seemed conscience does not necessarily make cowards of us all. ‘Thank God you came—I had no hope you would—You must be crazy,’—He looked at me miserably &—added, ‘But sometimes love has nothing to do with it—Better late than never. At least I will have—making you happy.’’

‘In Owens’s lifetime the rule was—you could make art about the poor so long as you held them at a distance—scrutinised them—slotted them into socio-economic sub-headings to show the various ills—they represented. Owens was told by one publisher that they were not interested in writing about poor people, the implication being of course that one condition, poverty, cancels out the other, being a person. (Intro, Nolan)’

Agnes Owens was sooo ahead of her time I love her