The Right to Hate - A Flawed Freedom?
If hate is permitted as free thought, but hate itself wounds, can we really claim it as a right?
A framed composition of playful brush strokes and pops of purples, oranges, earthy browns, dusty blues, hung on a rough, white plaster wall in a hallway of my childhood home. I loved to look at it. It was kind of messy, chaotic, silly, and it drew me in constantly transforming for me. I saw blooming hearts, a road, a fence, a rake… mysterious mounds of dirt? … gravestones? The words caught my attention later. They were scrawled haphazardly across a part of the picture in a kid-like writing style that could have been inside a birthday card from my big sister: “Happy birthday idiot! Just kidding, I love you! Go eat lots of cake!” (actual inscription from my 6th birthday card).
But the words nestled into their painted world hanging in the hallway were not from my sister. They were part of a creation of Sister Corita Kent, the rebellious nun-artist known for filling the 1960s and 70s with silkscreen explosions of color and poetry.
