But I give props to the New Yorker this week for Jane Kramer's big smart profile on Dorothea Tanning. The article is not available online, sorry y'all. You might want to buy this issue for this article though--details of Tanning's expansive, artistic life, full of beauty and determination to do whatever she wants in whatever medium she wants are inspiring. She points out that though she is known as a Surrealist painter, she actually only did that for twelve years, and then painted in other ways for the next fifty years.

And in 1997, at age 88, she decided to become a poet instead. How gorgeous.

Also of note is that she refuses to be a part of the National Museum of Women in the Arts, or any show just containing women. I respect this move: that old question of whether you want to be just a "writer" or a "woman writer" seems so moot to me. Ladies, do whatchalike, dance howyalike. Name yourself whatever you want.


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