They say a dog’s nose inhales information the way people read. So when I see Moon sniffing, I figure he’s perusing the books of other dogs.
Life meanders politely, eyes meet, pleasantries are exchanged, civilization is tamped down to a well worn path. Odors rise unremarked. No fart jokes in a church basement, nothing obtrusive. Just adults mixed with sugar.
Whether we accept Edmond Belamy represents something new in art, we must admit he represents something very, very old in human relations: the patriarchy.