As I knew she would, the great Eleanore Studer has composed a thoughtful and heartfelt tribute to a great artist.
© 1985 Time & Life
So, here’s the thing: If you’re a member of my generation (or a bit older, likely anyone born and/or raised in the ’80s), as a favorite blogger of mine put it back when MJ died, you either grew up in a Michael Jackson house, or a Prince house. That might have been true even if not for their (near as anyone can really know, mostly played up for publicity) artistic “rivalry” during that decade. I’ve been a dancer since I was four years old, and that means mine was a Michael Jackson house. It’s his feet and handwriting I’ve got tattooed on me, to try to remember my strength and beauty, to continue looking forward.
But the other thing is: I fucking love Prince, too. I always have.
I run all the social media accounts for my job, and when I saw his name trending…
View original post 795 more words