A lot has happened since I attempted to post to this site. In early 2013, I opened a brick and mortar conglomeration with someone who shall remain nameless. It was 3 years of absolute sacrifice to finally have a place to share all of the artists and creators around me. It was also a place of great trauma for me; I still cannot bring myself to step foot into what the space has become since we moved out. For a time, I chose to be quiet about my pain, but I realize that the act of concealment only furthered the hurting of my throbbing, injured soul. Sometimes, we allow people into our lives who cause us great torture, and we don’t even realize the damage done it until much time has passed. There is no point to regret. Yet, I may never forgive her for raping my dreams, abusing my heart, and spitting venom on me in the end.
Losing that space, the community, coming out feeling like a drowned rat with naught left but scraps for clothes, an empty gas tank, and $12…it was more humbling (for me) than being homeless. My house was in a state of neglect, my partner in life, exhausted, and I felt like I was locked in a massive warehouse with no windows.
I took a job working with the land for less money than I had worked for in over a decade. That led to an interview to manage a small farm on my 32nd birthday, with $12 in my bank account, $2 of which went to parking. It was a temp position and I told myself, “I can do anything for 6 months, anything. I will get this job.”
Fast forward, and now I manage the project. It’s odd to leave a world full of constant gigs, travel, working with many types of personalities, and being screamed at on the daily, to being alone with the land, butterflies, and birds. I resisted telling anyone about my new job, because I know as a woman, you can only be good at one thing at a time. (HAR). At least that’s how it seems to be perceived. With every new photo of me covered in dirt with a prize-sized tomato, men, (especially white male artists), fled my social media in droves. I’d ask them why, and they told me they only keep up with people “in the industry” and it seems that I “have quit”.
I know what they meant.
They were there for the tits.
They are here to climb that proverbial ladder.
And Facebook doesn’t pay my bills.
I never stopped taking photos; my work just went from being featured in tattoo magazines to being published in environmental publications…I stopped curating shows for artists and started creating food for food banks from otherwise wasted materials.
Once I accepted this new position, my future opened up again.
I can create while I farm.
My art is in everything I touch, build, grow, teach, learn.
We cannot separate what we do from who we are.
I finally feel healed enough to put myself out there again. So, here I go, relaunching this blog, adding to the stories, and moving forward on this life journey.
Thank you for being here.