I did not know what to expect when choosing to read this book. I’ve been interested in better understanding the tapestry of women’s lives throughout history, and this seemed like an interesting place to start. Elinore Pruitt Stewart was born in 1876 and had a challenging start in life. She was orphaned young and grew up largely fending for herself. She was first married; however, her husband died in a railroad accident. In an effort to change her life, she took herself and her daughter to Wyoming to work on a homestead with Henry Clyde Stewart, whom she later married and had children with.

Elinore’s story is touching, and it’s inspiring to see a woman of that time take charge of her life. However, as a woman of color, there were certain nuances in her story that stood out to me. She is a glass-half-full kind of woman who truly counts her blessings and takes joy in the life she has built largely with her own two hands. The book unfolds as a series of letters she writes to a friend of hers from Denver. 

Playful by Cas Holman was a book I didn’t know I needed. As someone on the threshold of adulthood at the ripe age of 25, I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions about what it means to get older. As a socially constructed consequence of aging, we are told to shake off our curiosity in place of stability and responsibility. Somewhere along the way, I internalized that adulthood meant sacrificing joy and, for some reason, suppressing yourself in an effort to look like you have your life together.

It’s interesting what we consider “together”: someone who has figured it all out and appears to know the secret sauce to surviving this wild existence. Unless you’re aware of your own reincarnation, we’re all kind of winging it, trying to figure out something that doesn’t really need to be solved. Adulthood feels like a performance to me — one I’m carefully, almost stubbornly, trying not to take part in.

Ruth Asawa is a name I’ve come across again and again as I’ve become more immersed in studying art. This retrospective was spectacular, with 300 of her works on view. I was already aware of Asawa’s tactile nature—she doesn’t shy away from texture or form, and her wire sculptures, in particular, exist within a universe of their own. I was excited to enter this exhibition somewhat blind to her history, and even more excited to experience her work for itself.