Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
Every time I see Lindsey Kutusch art I think of Edgar Allan Poe and the The Raven. Each piece should be named, "Nevermore," in my opinion. Or maybe the entire collection of art could be called, "Nevermore.