How can I explain to a pedestrian the joy of riding my bicycle through the drippy streets at night, my single headlight bobbing, the light sharp on one side, cuts through a tree having a dream of itself, everything tethered to its twin-dark, thoughts cast a shadow, shadows cast a word if you lower yourself to a hush, the word is ordinary like a word, is cabbage. Sometimes smoke.
Fellow national curators (myself included) would recognize when our own limitations of history/age/privilege were a barrier and step aside to let others more aligned with an artist or project take over. In this landscape, talented younger artists and curators would receive effective, thoughtful mentorship and training, while those more seasoned would acknowledge and draw inspiration from the energy and ideas of next-generation curators.