I wanted to be an artist, writer, or a pink centaur when I grew up. As I got older, I learned about things like “money” and “useless college majors — art history”. For a few years, I worked at jobs that were short on creativity, but not on cash. It was good in the sense that I could pay a therapist to tell me I wasn’t passionate about my career. So in typical millennial fashion, I whined about it to everyone that would listen, unwilling to take a risk or make a move. Until I did. It’s been slow and unsteady, but I’m getting there. And most of all, I’m happy.
So that story above happens in my personal life as well. All the time. With everything. There’s this constant battle between the “right” thing and what I want to do, which is usually awful, scary, creative, and fun. And that’s how I’d describe my inspiration for these pieces. The wrong choice. But at the same time, sweet, sexy, and honest. So these poems, while they aren’t all actual events, come from a very open place. I hope readers feel that and can see the poetry in their own smaller, less-attractive moments.
They are photographies I’ve been fortunate to shoot myself because I live in the greatest city, Los Angeles, Pasadena specifically, with my guinea pig. As you may know, LA is famous for its horrendous traffic. People get very creative — and lost — finding ways to avoid it and often, stumble upon neighborhoods like Echo Park, Silverlake, and North Hollywood. Or rather I stumble there with friends for a drink after work in order to wait out rush hour on the freeway. That’s another thing… in California, freeways are prefixed with “The” ie. The 10, The 405. Fun is not just relegated to Fridays and Saturdays either. Any night of the week there is something to do, from Art Walk Thursdays in Downtown, to Open Mic Sundays, to mid-week book signings. There is an appeal to Beverly Hills and Hollywood clubs, but it’s just not me. I prefer the indie scene, to experience what’s up and coming.
I use an old transfer technique to rub all these visions on to canvas, producing a grungy, organic effect. Again, I am drawn to perfect imperfection. No two pieces that look the same. You’ll see discolorations, chunks of medium, dripping ink, but still it’s yours. Just as how I am mine, you are yours, and with that simple idea, there is acceptance and even beauty.