04/12/2026
I don't post enough. I have been taking college courses and working, being a parent, moving, trying to build an art business. But as I do this, I wonder, who is going to follow me?
I don't have much content, I hardly have time to add things. I'm not even sure what I'm doing. I come home exhausted from massaging people and doing therapies from what I thought was just a small car accident. (apparently I'm not in very good physical shape). I feel basically shunned everywhere I go. I don't fit in anywhere and when I've needed help, I've asked and it has been refused like I'm not worth anyone's time or space. I know I'm not much. I'm just someone trying to get through the bangs and bruises of life. I have high expectations of myself and I fall short all the time.
So here I am, with the beginnings of things. It always feels like the beginning of something and never anything more.
I learned that it's okay to be at the beginning when we start but figurative hurricanes and tornados keep hitting my life and that just means so many more beginnings. When do I get to plant a seed that grows beyond a sprout, or even a seedling, into a tree?
Well I'm posting everything. Imperfect, unfinished, sometimes made from found objects. My life is messy and unpredictable. It is full of chaotic blasts that are seemingly designed to shut me down. I can't speak for anyone else, but I can speak to my own desire to find realism in all the deep fake and process instead of pretended perfection. So I am posting work that I have done the last few years knowing that it is nothing compared to what I can do but during the hardest time of my life, this is what is me.
As embarrassing and vulnerable as it feels, here it is.
