Both my parents are pretty artsy people, so there is some nude art at home. There’s a statue of some kind of nymph – that used to terrify me as a child, not so much because of her nudity but because of her dead-eyed, Nefertiti-esque face – and a couple of nude paintings. But one time, anticipating that family friends (and their young kids) were coming over, my mom decided to discreetly stash away some of our collection for the time being. Continue reading “on two types of self-censorship” →