It's funny because every time she's recommended something to me, it has been completely up my alley, we've loaned each other books and snarked through civic debates on corporate welfare over Slovenian beer, and gone on drives through the hood to visit gardens because despite being of a different generation than me, she is unafraid, having grown up in New Jersey.
Her father had an art gallery in New York that specialized in primitive art and such, and her mother who lives upstairs gave me a tour of all the paintings they never sold and kept, of farms in New Jersey and self-described "Greatest Artists in the World."
She knows I love art and printmaking and have oddball religious leanings and hands me a box of Sister Corita Kent prints from an art book that came out awhile back and tells me to take whatever I want. Her dad was one of the first people who exhibited her work before she got really popular, and since I'm not up on my pop art, I hadn't heard of her, but I like a lot of these pieces strewn on her bed and hanging on her walls and end up walking home with a folder full of ones that jumped out at me that are now framed all over my apartment. They're definitely emblematic of a certain time period but the messages still resonate and the colors and words are still vibrant.