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Stephen Mead
Having worked a variety health care and Civil Service jobs…

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Stephen Mead
Having worked a variety health care and Civil Service jobs to pay the bills, Stephen Mead, now retired, always managed to squeeze out time for writing poetry/essays and creating art. Occasionally he even got paid for this work. Currently he is resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, an online site depicting artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, The Chroma Museum