October 19, 2018
I guess I’ve spent so long floating around the art world at this point, it’s kind of my home. Maybe I’m an artist, maybe I’m not, I’m not sure honestly, but what I am sure of is my undying love of art. Art is what I wanted to do above all other things growing up; before my homework, before my chores, with friends, as summer camps, for my birthday, and now sometimes I choose it over going out or having a weekend. And that makes me happy. Joyously so…Sometimes art even saved me, so I give her my time.
I grew up in a sweet little town that simultaneously fostered beautiful things in me like community and kindness and forced growth I would never know I needed, and harder feelings like overwhelmingly intense sauna steam you feel suffocated by or an ever-present undercurrent of boredom I could never fully shake. It’s such a funny little bubble of a place, so close to everything and nothing at the same time. But I loved it ultimately. My childhood was enchanted even when it wasn’t. Just because I was in love with enchanted and could find idealistic romance even in tragedy or trauma. I imagined wild things and told fantastic tall tales to other wide-eyed children and went on lone adventures through the jungles of my back yard. And that is really when art got set into my bones. When it was not only a way to escape, but a way to make joy and magic.
I think I used to know myself…I was sure footed. I wasn’t ever awkward in my youth, quite content actually. Until my senior year of high school. I hardly remember my senior year now, the depression was so oppressive. After that I danced in and out of mental illness and left the comfort of knowing myself to explore the terrifying unknown (by no choice of my own). I wasn’t always brave about it; I fought it and hated it and tried to race back to what I thought I knew. But by then, she was gone. I’m okay with that now…all good things come with high and low prices. (Life is a strange, wondrous thing, ya see.)
I have four siblings, most of which avoid being in front of the camera at all costs and it breaks my heart honestly because I know that photos are my way to keep them forever. It forced me to be my own subject first though and I think I needed that–who to get more comfortable with than yourself? Below is a random series of photos from the last 15 years all the way up to me now. 28. Not sure footed, still floating around art (with some occasional flailing), always curious about people and their stories and whatever is next around the corner.