I toured Europe, Mexico and Seattle, getting my mind blown in various ways and plotting future full-on hobo adventures, in which I master the skill of living exactly nowhere for the rest of my life.

I returned to grad school after quitting a few years back, happy now to dive headlong into my study of abject horror, my fascination with the grotesque and how it all relates to my version of performance.  Graduation = 2012, if the world doesn’t end first, but we all know it will, so this is why I do it for the experience and not for the degree.

And I am currently Production Designer, Makeup/Hair and Documentarian on this incredible noir-murder-musical film by Julian Grant, called F*ckload (of Scotch Tape).  To be rotoscoped!!!  I’m learning so much and am scaring the complete and total shit out of myself, just as it should be.  Julian is a true phenomenon.  I am so fortunate to have his nonstop creative energy and kindness in my life.

And to practice my gore skills for the aforementioned film, I made the grotesque burlesque.

Then it was time again for Scary Movie Party– 2011 marked its 8th year of handmade horror.  Our most ambitious events to date, we included some incredibly strong work from artists and filmmakers all over the world.  Loving my new international community of makers!  For your viewing pleasure, our annual MIT GAS video.

Then bisous, a participatory honey-tongue-drawing performance, was installed at Defibrillator as part of Food & Performance.

Now, my beloved and I are in NYC for his solo project, UNUR.

Then back to Chicago for a winter I will do my best to ignore.  Onward!

the original concept for my concentric trench super 8 film piece was for it to remain fully analog.  surrounded by piles of crumpled, off-reel, hand-processed super8 film caused me to realize the enormity of the undertaking.  sure, im made of magic, but what gives?  i determined that i would lose the focus of the narrative (whatever it still may be) if i could not understand my own editing in a linear fashion– the way digital editing can offer.  so i digitized all 12 reels and was able to build a mockup in final cut.

within broken photo lies an opportunity to present the analog version of this literally dragged-through-the-mud film.  a small loop, a repetition.  just as the process of digging a concentric trench actually is.  i hope this wee gesture for broken photo will help me resolve this otherwise enormous concentric trench project… which has been on hold since 2009.  returning every so often to resolving this piece is a bit like stumbling across the remainder of a cactus spur half-extracted.

toward resolution, then!

≠

broken photo’s inaugural exhibition will be on thursday sept 1, 2011 at living room gallery in chicago.

then my months become days and diminish into hours and my minutes start getting all bunchy and i get irritated with myself for doing too much at all times and i have to put myself to bed, certain that some kind of better solution, better process with hit me over the head one day.

{breathe.}

but this is my process:  the optimism, excitement, what-ifs and perspective of the long view;  followed by the cautionary prudence of minding my time and carefully choosing new opportunities which cross my path;  then total, compleat freakout, self-doubt, frustration, the “i guess ill never learn”s and temporary mental shutdown.  it is not pretty, but, fortunately, it is ephemeral.  i have to remind myself that i wouldnt do this many things if i thought i couldnt hack it.

so, now that i am on the other side of said freakout, i am able to name the things ive involved myself in.  without apprehension, without doubt.  especially now that i have ceased staying up nights in a row to work on a film set doing makeup and, relievedly, the clog in our tub has finally been snaked.

and okay, so it looks like i do have plenty of time…  excellent.

august

• teaching kids performance throughout the summer
• my parents visit and stay at my house
• broken photo exhibition, for which i am an organizer and artist
• goin’ to mexico
• practice gore effects on friends in preparation for independent film

september

• goin to seattle
• goin back to grad school
• being a body in a sound & movement performance
• practice gore effects on friends
• begin special effects makeup design for independent film

october

• scary movie party 8, organizer/filmmaker/DJ at the whistler
• scary movie party 8, see above, at the hyde park art center
• mischief night performance at hpac– blood/lick drawing
• grad school
• practice gore effects on friends
• special effects makeup design for independent film contd

november

• my brother and his family visits
• food & performance at defibrillator– honey/lick drawing performance, 2 days
• a merkins thanksgiving part 3
• grad school
• practice gore effects on friends
• special effects makeup design for independent film contd

december

• grad school
• practice gore effects on friends
• special effects makeup design for independent film contd
• film wraps
• sleep

here is your reward for making it through this post: paddy from dillinger 4!  zinggg!

tar-dipped paper.  liquid macadam, the molten road slithers atop a bed of cotton.

paraffin-penetrated picture frames.  ask the sun for help in uncovering the imagery.

wax resist-letterpressed paper.  words so wet they look like they were just spoken.

rust-stained linen.  squares of flaked, rusted mild steel i cut 12 years ago wrapped in white linen, salted, watered and allowed to grow.

honey-drip drawings.  slow race.

like on like, colorwise.  painting a red dress red.  white gesso on white paper.  graphite on tar.  maddeningly, beautifully impossible to photograph.

tongue-licked drawings.  friends, i cannot wait to make this happen with you.

{salt, sugar, mouth, evidence of interaction, pressure, sound, silver leaf, time.}

∴   ∴   ∴

April 6, 2011
pass. port. pass-port. passport. PASSPORT!!!!!!!!!

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May 5, 2011
LET ME CUT YOUR HAIR!: A Fund Razor

Dear Friends:

great advertising, yes?

I am super lucky to be going to Europe this June with a great couple of gals.  I need to make some extra scratch for the trip, so:  Let me cut your hair!

Just a trim, some sweet layers, dashing color, a fake fade or something experimental.  “I’m not a pro, but my mom is,” and she taught me– I gave my first official haircut was when I was 9.  Now I do asymmetrical cuts on purpose!  I do men’s cuts, too.  Tell me what works best for your hair and we can go from there– hey, let’s call it a collaboration.  Asking for donations only, whatever you can afford to give– as we all know, every little bit helps!

Come over to my house across the street from Humboldt Park, we will lounge in my yard, drink good beers or lavender hibiscus tea as my sweet puppy Maisy basks in the sunshine at your feet.  Or I can come to your place, no problem.

I’m leaving the last week of May, so please contact me before May 22 for your new, awesome spring hairdo!

Thanks so much, I will eat a croissant in a beerhall in your honor.  If you don’t need a cut, please help by spreading the word!

xox, Jessi

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May 8
my mother’s advice on going to europe: “dont get sold into sex slavery.” quoted with permission. happy mother’s day, everybuddy!

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May 9
pack weight = 18.2 lbs so far. edit, edit.

May 9
PASSPORT RECEIVED! im this much closer to becoming an ex-pat, woohoooo!

May 9
just a reminder: i am cutting hair for tips so i dont starve in europe. put me to work! xox

∴

May 22
heaven for me, hell for Patrick.

Provencal Lavender Fields Map
Provencal Lavender Fields Map. Travel Maps for exploring Provence, South of France and Paris, by Provence Beyond.

May 22
a map of my EUROPA 2011 trip. one of my biggest experiments to date, seeing much art, some monks, castles, puppets, pals, beers, lights, mountains, flying by the seat of my pantalons, can’t believe this is really happening, ohmygoodness, people, i am leaving the US.

EUROPA 2011
Covering 18034 kilometres / 11206 miles

∴

May 25

THREE DAYS til liftoff!

Jane’s Addiction Three Days LIVE NINJA Tour 2009 Austin TX

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May 26
dear formerly long-haired friends: thank you for helping me achieve my goal of Eating Food in europe by letting me cut your hair. moreover, i am humbled by your faith in me and my magic scissors. i make cheers to you at electroparty! xox

∴

May 27
putting together my euro-soundtrack. this one. this one right here. the anthem today for tomorrow.

Dirty Three- Red

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May 29
i made it to prague by way of a restorative 3-hour layover in munich. now im safe and sound in my bunk at prague square hostel after a decidedly spiralesque couple of days. g’nite!

Flickr
let the eurotour begin! documenting whatever these countries lay before my gaze…

∴

May 30
booking future hostels already… a couple more days in prague, then onto kutna hora to see the ossuary/bone cathedral, then a day in dresden, then berlin. ive already seen so much in just 2 days, my eyeballs ache. also in need of a leg rub. you know, like for bar-b-que.

∴

May 31

super prague apartment for super nice ladies!

Czech Rep./Germany/Netherlands
Super nice! (Novy Svet, Prague)

May 31
such a lovely end to another huge day. ill be inside a castle tomorrow!!!!

thunderstorm over prague castle. mindblowing. why do we not have castles in the states?

∴

June 1
just bought my ticket to see bedrich smetana’s “vltava”— a love letter to the river moldau which hairpins through prague and which i played as a middle school cello nerd. ill also be hearing the music of vivaldi, dvorak, pachelbel, albinoni, bach, mozart, all the heavy hitters from my days in orchestra. gonna witness this cathedral-style. i brought my hanky for the most wonderful 70 minutes of my life in prague thus far. eeeep!

∴

June 2
final day in prague. i will be excited to move on to kutna hora to see the bone cathedral/ossuary. scary movie party stock footage, anyone?

Kostnice Ossuary Beinhaus

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June 3

our first eurail train of the trip arrived beautifully in crusty old kutna hora, czech republiky! we lucked into a fancy ikeaesque apartment & a student band is playing old swingin jazz jams in the courtyard below us… ye got yer dukes place, yer what a wonderful world and hopefully some herb alpert if those kids can get loose.

June 3
the bone church was incredible— bones of 40,000 people in amazing constructions. i have 200 czech korunas left before we head out to berlin tomorrow. gee, what should i spend it on?

∴

June 5

the bone church, ruins, and unacceptable signage. goodbye, czech republic. destination berlin!

Flickr

June 5
oh em eff gee, BERLIN! riding bikes with Todd to meet Frank at Muggelsee Lake. it is a beautiful, sweaty day with phenomenal old friends. and beer, of course, what can i say? when in berlin…

∴

June 8

goodbye berlin, thanks for the memories. next stop, the canals of amsterdam! and some well-earned shuteye.

June 8

berlin people, tear it up!

MM Presents: BRAVE EXHIBITIONS BERLIN w/ UNUR + AUTOMATIC WRITING
Location: King Kong Klub
Time: ‎10:00PM Thursday, June 9th

June 8
here we are, amsterdam! im gonna bike the hell out of you!

∴

June 9

more more more photoez! berlin altogether and the bright beginnings of a dusky amsterdam. BIKES!!!!!!!!

Flickr

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June 10

at bolhoed vegetarian restaurant in amsterdam. the vegan sampler plate is insane— bready roasted veggie pizza, dill white asperges, lentils, tomato paprika tofu, herbed brown rice, fresh salad with watercress, people! just drank a big glass of soy milk for the first time since leaving. heaven.

Healthfood Restaurant De Bolhoed
At the Bolhoed on the Prinsengracht enjoy organic vegetarian food in a charmingly chaotic decor with New Age accents. The dishes on the menu are all vegetarian and quite often vegan as well. There are tasty carrot pumpkin soup and hummus and tzatziki as well as casserole dishes and brownies.

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June 11

ladies and gentleman, i am proud to report that i have achieved drinking both gold and silver leaf! (in a 17th c. herbal liqueur called “tears of the bride,” limit 3 due to metal poisoning). all this for 4€. one can be shiny on the inside too…

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June 12

goodbye, amsterdam, its been expensive. spent the day a half hour away chasing windmills in zaanse schans. the old paint mill’s secret room bestows upon me brilliant stonemilled pigments: ducaten-goud bronsepoeder, russian green and blue glass litter (a precursor to glitter). AND this hotel has a sauna. super psyched!!!

Welcome to Verfmolen De Kat

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June 13
dear antwerp, show me what you got, for i have no idea what to do with you. love, jessi

June 13

hello, antwerpen centraal! feed me!

deelicious vegetarian fare at finjan, then a walk to the “fancy fair,” which was a surprise carnival! rode some lawnmower-powered bumper cars around a slippery wooden track and laughed my ass off. a walk along the waterfront with a quick stop to get fizzy water and a cherry lambic for the walk home to our hotel across the cobblestone street from the cathedral. “free life,” the folks say here. agreed.

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June 14

in antwerp, at cafe lombardia, vegan goodness found quite by accident! tofu totall sandwich and an iced caffe with vegan cream on tooooooop! it looks like dee-lite exploded in here. the proprietess may or may not be lady miss keir… in 20 years. i am stunned.

Vegetarisch restaurant & Biologische voeding – Lombardia
Een legendarisch biologische voeding shop-café, gerund door een hippe crew. Het decor van dit trendsetting vegetarisch restaurant is onvergetelijk.

June 14

good people: i have achieved PARIS!!!! now to calibrate my johnny depp GPS in anticipation of a very huge day tomorrow… bonsoir, mes amis!

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June 15

paris à twilight. oooh la la!

Flickr

June 15

ShakeFace at the Eiffel Tower.

June 15
la tour eiffel = 1, johnny depp = 0. such a satisfying day walking the hectic streets of paris with Jenelle using my french skills (well!), drinking wine and taping a message from a very cool girl child on the eiffel tower itself. we were offered help by no less than 7 people today and it made me coo. my feet are way poofy and ive laundry to do in the sink… paris, montmartre, im yours.

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June 17

catacombs, more happy french conversation and jovial passings through l’incroyable sacre cœur park, du bière et vin avec Jenelle and now a hostel room full of bright-eyed world travelers. humbled, grateful and anxiously awaiting an embrace at gare l’est from one hardworkin’ Patrick.  le sigh…

June 17

trois jours à paris avec Patrick Scott. c’est magnifique!

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June 19

hangin with some incredibly wonderful french goth-punks in paris. these kids loooove to cook. AND they have soya milk for my café. again, certain heaven. today, the louvre and finding the old grand guignol horror performance theatre, eeee! then off to carcassonne on the night train for a handful of days in the french countryside… in a holding pattern of stunned-ness.

June 19

sound atmosphere language

Sounds by ballpeen
interdisciplinary artist in search of home.

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June 20

carcassonne!

June 20
eating the face off of some super creamy ste-félicien cheese on baguette with a(n) euro-glass of westmalle tripel. Patrick scored us this kickass cheap hôtel/apartment where we can cook our own supper for the first time in weeks! considering driving through provence to the beach tomorrow instead of training it… lavande, la plage, chartreuse, i am coming for you!

∴

June 21

trying for this on a whim and suggestion from a new friend… it has surely been the natural pigment tour thus far! color, i want to eat you.

Provence Tourism – Visit the Provence, the villages between the Luberon and the Vaucluse.
In the beginning there was the sea. A hundred million years ago, at the foot of the Alps, the sea bottoms collected thick deposits of sands, some full of iron silicate of a greenish tint. At the end of the Cretaceous period, the climate changed and became tropical…

June 21
avignon, france. le credit card is officially maxed out exactly as planned. plotting our evening excursion *in a tiny noir FIAT convertible* to see des ocres de rousillon land formations at the golden hour. du bière, some deep twilight, then full darkness at 10 pm. the cicadas have arrived and their timbre is definitely french. hovering in wide-eyed disbelief for these experiences.

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June 22

cette matin, je vais à la musée lavande. et puis, je vais à les alpes françaises pour boirons le chartreuse liqueur et carthusian monks! oui oui oui. ce soir, je retourner à paris. et demain…………….. sigh. je ne peux pas parler!!!!! il est trop triste!

June 22

‎”Chimm Boffo!” Jessi and I celebrate the last piece of leftover plastic bag tofu from our hotel room hobo dinner last night. note the faux nutella smears on Jessi’s fingers. That’s class you can’t buy in the city.

June 22
one car, 6 trains, 3 villages, 1 city… all in a days work. tomorrow, two trains, two planes and a long, weighted walk home to my best girl maisy. wishing Patrick the best fortune on his insanely complicated way home via barcelona. wish we were flying together…

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June 23

off to see charles de gaulle about a plane… à bientôt, paris!

June 23

chicago. a long walk home from the train by choice. MAISY MAISY MAISY and the cats. handlebar with Jenny for beers and food. 10pm here, 5 am in europe. c’est comme ça.

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June 24

Maisys Auntie Jenny has truly earned her orbs/balls as Saint Jenny, protector of animals, plants and wayward ephemera. today, i light candles in your honor. thank you for a friendships worth of care. i love you.

June 24

un beau cadeau pour vous. this is why, mes amis.

le ciel français [HQ]
Length: ‎1:31

was totally, completely insane. with all the end of the year teaching stuff happening along with some major life events, i have been breathlessly racing against the clock for months. i never got caught up and so i just evacuated chicago for europe.

im exhausted from being busy and needlessly preoccupied. being this busy means that i am not available for those i love. it means i cant always pick up the phone when someone calls. it means i am not taking care of myself and my family. it means i have two speeds: on and off. i dont rise up from sleep, i mechanically switch on like a light. and i dont fall asleep, i shut down. i have been living this way for at least the entire time ive lived in chicago, which is (inexplicably) the better part of a decade. it is the compleat opposite of how i want to continue spending the remainder of the precious hours i have been given. so. europe. teach me.

arrival. sunday may 29
a blur.

a little bumpy, a little dizzy, but overall pretty cush, after all, i was lucky enough to fly lufthansa. they give you pillows and blankets (both clean) headsets, full meals and two thick steaming wet wipes for you to freshen up with as you see fit. i tried to sleep the whole time, but it was difficult. i was more than ready to get off that plane.

chilled out in a patch of grass outside the munich airport to reset myself. took a picture of a picture of maisy in the daisies. smiled at jenelle. got on a tram and drove 100 yards to a tiny plane that looked like a caricature of itself.

landed in prague. had to find jennifer somewhere in the airport, who had taken 5 flights to get to prague due to frequent flyer miles. found her, got on another tram. saw some hooded crows in the countryside! got on the most vertical escalator possible and couldnt even look where i was going. really fast subway, another vertical escalator, walking on the surface through a sea of drunk people or tourists or both with too much baggage. find prague square hostel (recommended), check in. lay down for 50 seconds. go out and explore, take a hundred photos, eat pizza, piss off our first server by asking for water. drink a celebratory beer with the girls. more roaming. up too late figuring out my System… uploading photos on an un-intuitive ipad. sleep. but not for long.

Temporarily, I understand the need to put it to the side, to make it easier on the folks who are helping take care of my indoor plant and animal family while I am away this summer.  It kind of hurts to detach this much from raising green goodness into the world, but I know I must prioritize and balance my expectations against the realities of the city and the schedules of my friends who are so graciously minding the farm.  Therefore, sadly, I will not be growing my beloved varieties of cotton this year.  Too much to ask.

Another major part of my detachment is because I know that nobody cares about all the work, planning and care it takes to raise plants and keep them well the way I do.  Except for the farmers I know– they obviously totally get it, thousandfold, at that.  Honestly, between tuckpointers pissing on my food plants while they work and constantly keeping an eye out for the landscrapers to remind them for the 57th time over 2 years to please leave the plants alone and please do NOT spray poison all over the place/inside my animals, gardening in the city just gets downright discouraging.

I understand that raising and tending things which are alive like plants and animals is a major part of my identity, and this action is part of my creative process.  As an artist, everything I do is an extension of my creative practice, which has a strong science vein connecting the concepts I investigate.  As a teaching artist, I teach what I know and practice.  If I can’t practice gardening, then I certainly won’t be teaching it.  Already this spring, I have brought in redworms and sweet, sweet crumbly compost for my kids to pour over, oohing and ahhing while simply discovering the soil.  I introduce the land as curriculum as much as possible not only for the ecology factors but also because I have learned that city kids can be incredibly fearful of the natural world.  Me and my redworms try to undo as much of that as possible.

But now, out of necessity, I must disconnect from my little piece of tending this natural world.  Therefore, Entropic Gardening ensues.

I unloaded ALL my seeds that I have been saving over the years into 3 buckets:  prairie perennial + flowers, food plants and herb plants.  I added some dry sand and compost to help broadcast the seeds evenly, mixed it up, and with only a fork, spread these mixtures in and around my yard.  Quickly, without fuss.  Even so, the whole process of tidying up for summer took 3 hours.  We shall see what comes up, as the earth and her seeds know best.

As I was forking over the prairie wildflower mixture around the exterior of my yard beyond our protective fence, something started becoming very clear to me.  When planting in the public way, do NOT put in the effort to make it look nice.  Camouflage sown seeds with the existing cigarette butts, crack baggies, shards of glass, styrofoam cups, gallon containers of automobile oil and doggie doody bags.  Planting in public areas must be kept low-key and effortless, or else people will feel compelled to destroy it.  After all, why should anyone have anything nice?  Then, when it eventually does get destroyed, you won’t feel so bad, because, in a way, you made peace with the possibility of total destruction happening.  Everyone wins.

I will still put bamboo stakes up with white surrender flags to mark off areas which must be left alone, because I am protective that way.  But that is it.  I mean it.  I’m walking away.  Slowly, slowly… walking.

Ahhhh, having low expectations is awesome.  Makes me feel “young again,” like when I was in high school.  Zingggg!

At the beach yesterday, my best friend and I were just reminiscing about one of many ridiculous experiences we had as teenagers vying for a parking space at Siesta Beach along with scores of circling tourists.  These car-sharks are marked, in order of severity:  Canada’s bottom-dwelling Nurse Shark; Pennsylvania’s Mako, Illinois’ Tiger shark, New York’s Bull shark and, finally, the dreaded New Jersey Great White shark.  We circled the lot for at least ten minutes, becoming more and more eagle-eyed, then found one.  We pulled in, noting that no one in the throng of opposing cars had their turn signal on claiming it for themselves, a recognized “dibs.”  Next thing you know, we are being literally screamed at by a dessicated, golden-fingered, overly tanned middle-aged man with a funny accent for stealing “his” parking space.  Naturally, as Natives, we thought little of it and went on our merry way to rejoice in the waves of the Gulf of Mexico, away from the sweaty clamor of tourist season, high school and parents.

When we returned back to her car, we found a handwritten note under the windshield wiper from this petty shriveled man, proclaiming:  I’M HAPPY TO SEE THAT FLORIDA GIRLS ARE NO DIFFERENT THAT NEWARK WHORES.

Even through our incredulous laughter, we were kind of pissed:  his sour-grapes argument was irrelevant on several counts, but the fact that this man was so eager to name-call two young girls that he spent his precious tanning time writing it down was just over the top and cemented our permanent disdain for these outsiders.

Now, as a circumstantial Midwesterner with frostbitten nether-regions, I have finally grown to truly appreciate the steamy, dirty, southern peninsula I call home.  And, like it or not, I am now Part of The Problem: the Northern/Midwestern snowbird migration-invasion of the Slow Coast.

Only I am different than the regular tourists.  I am fortunate enough to have a more complete understanding and appreciation of the inner workings of this tropical heaven because I grew up there.

As a Native Floridian, you learn that nature will always be smarter and faster and more beautiful and more ferocious than you could ever hope to be.  Hurricane season teaches you evacuation strategies and patience with the boredom of being trapped indoors with strangers.  The sweltering heat makes you appreciate the shade of broad oaks, towering palms and the predominant, short concrete shelters we call home.  It also will teach you a thing or two about being unnecessarily modest, as it is just too damn hot to wear many clothes at all.  Jellyfish, crabs, skates, stingrays, sharks, razor-sharp oyster shells, alligators, snapping turtles and fire coral teach you respect for the organisms in whose territory you are merely a guest.  Picking oranges, tangelos, lemons, limes, avocados, papaya, tangerines, mangoes and grapefruit from unassuming backyard trees shows you that no one really ever has to go hungry.  You learn that pristine beauty comes with a price: the sultry Gulf of Mexico has a dark side whose beguiling aqua rip tides will drown both you and your ego. Florida’s flying cockroaches will begin training you in night-blind sprinting competitions.  Witnessing the majestic and meandering Manatee’s body, thick with deeply-carved scars achieved from just being alive near careless, drunk motorboaters calls on you to think outside of yourself and have consideration for your neighbors.

As for the people of the state, well, some of ‘em still have a ways to go.  The smatterings of disgusting lingering racism show you that we are never as advanced as we purport to be.  The friction of the haves vs. the have-nots yields an unsettling truth to modern day race and class segregation.  The male-female politick can be just as discouraging and excruciatingly sexist.  I will say that being practically naked in a bathing suit so constantly forced me to get over any qualms I had with the un-Barbielike imperfections I was supposed to have and into a space of feeling quite comfortable with my own body exactly as it is, not as the world would seemingly like it to be.  I thank Florida for this good, site-specific lesson in being comfortable inside one’s own skin, sunburn and all.

If I ever have children, I will never raise them in an environment where they cannot have direct, informal interactions with the natural world.  I have learned more about animal behavior and stewardship of the land and water from catching lizards in my yard and minnows in the deep ditch behind my now-razed childhood home than any cutting-edge virtual nature program could have provided.

All of these experiences led me to understand that there is a communion we share with the animal kingdom that must always be honored.  Behind the Vacationland tremors and beyond the hedonistic gluttony Florida is known for is the low phosphorescence-electric hum that the tourists will never understand:  this is the spirit of place.

And as I sit here, reflecting on my three previous days in my home state in a gloomy, rainy, cold Chicago, the thermostat still stealing my paycheck, fresh Florida sunburn covered up by 2 shirts and a hoodie, I am absolutely in awe of the Flowery Land.

And ultimately, this becomes a self-conversation about where I’ve come from versus where I belong.  That is the crux of determining of my next direction.  At least for now, there’s no way in hell I’m washing the Gulf of Mexico salt from my crazy-huge, seaweedesque, beach bum hair.  Heaven indeed.

The first week after graduation, I immediately went searching for work, with ponytails flying, riding my grey Huffy bike up and down Southern streets, excitedly envisioning myself working in a gallery or, egads!, making art for a living.  I (naïvely) thought my hard-earned BFA made me more attractive to the non-art job market.  My high hopes of finding a job that had everything to do with art were dashed little by little, until I found myself searching for work which had anything, ANYthing, to do with art.

Screen printing was what I happened into first in a literal metal sweatshop within the town I graduated.  It was drudgery-lite and suitable for a detail-oriented person like myself: counting the umpteen t-shirts that came rapid-fire off the dryer, targeting inky pinholes and blasting them with an acetone gun, then moving up to working on the press and, until the second layoff, working briefly in the art department designing horribly embarrassing sports-themed outerwear.  Still, I made new friends.  I shaved my head.  My new friends also shaved my head.

For my next trick, I remodeled and painted houses for a living, still within the same town I’d graduated.  I’d already had plenty of real-world experience, an interest in color and transformation, plus a nice, steady hand which required no taping off of moulding.  I thought, “At least I’m working with paint.”  I got paid much less than my boss’ male friend.  I was repeatedly stung by wasps.  I never once fell off a roof.

There was a point, after said boss made an unwelcome comment about my underwear and during not being able to afford my $112.50 in rent + continued repair of the car my brother had kindly lent me, that I thought:  “Hey.  This isn’t working.”

Determined to keep my chin up to balance my dismayed tail, I moved back home for 3 months.  I made some big drawings and bigger post-collegiate bad decisions.  With no offense to my folks whatsoever, I got the hell out of there quick with money this vegetarian made slinging steak sandwiches to chain-smoking country folks.  A job, I might add, that my always-generous neighbors offered me, a now-blonde weirdo with a lip ring, a girl-shaped spectacle in total opposition to the countryfied je ne sais quoi of it all, because they knew I would do good work.

Next stop:  Austin, Texas.  This town of half a million weirdos saved my drooping life and set me on a crooked path toward learning how to scrape together a living as an artist.  I have one certain dear friend named Benné to thank for her recognition that something was stirring in my work.  Her generosity in including me in several nearly back-to-back exhibitions set me on a profoundly momentous path toward building a solid technique and artmaking practice.

So here I am.  Making art, forming nonstop collaborations, teaching kids and generally inciting more preposterous, beautiful, scary work into fruition than I can personally handle.  Still working on piecing together a living from it all.

And after all the denial and outrage I felt for “it’s who you know,” I look back and note that I have prescribed unwittingly to that maxim the whole time.

It is who you know… because people cannot do all this living on our own.

Artmaking requires people, good people, resilient, devoted, activist, supportive, 24-hour, punk-as-hell people, be they audience, critic, benefactor, co-conspirator or human clamp.  Artists are meant to engage others and draw them close, then release them back into the ocean of imagination.

Who you know can’t be prescribed, it has to be built.  Through poor judgment, vulnerability, shared experience, strife and careful editing, all, of course, against the behest of our egos.  I have been truly fortunate, in my personal eschewing of the power structure of the Art Star system, to find a veritable restless hive of forward-moving artists like myself who, above all else,  just want to make art happen.

Hence, my deeply-lived Concentric Trench Residency at ephemerally ancient Rockett Ranch, courtesy of Benné.  Hence, the people-powered horror collage, Scary Movie Party, now in its 8th year.  Hence, the forthcoming Broken Photo, formed from a simple idea and made real by people who know people whom we want to support and who will also pass the torch to new artists when their turn is complete.

For who is an artist, really, without her people?