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John Ryan settled on a character that was neither human nor animal. It resembled a blue tear, with hands sprouting three fingers and a thumb, lightning eyebrows, and a big, sheepish grin.
The sun shines, birds sing, dogwoods bloom, and weekends brim with festivals. It’s time to grab a beer, take in some music. . . buy some art? Hold on a minute. Atlanta’s festival culture—which, thanks to our mellow climate, is basically a year-round phenomenon—may delude us into thinking we’re supporting the creative class.