There’s a method to my madness, I assure you. It may look like I am a scrambled hot mess by the looks of my desk while I paint, but I promise you I generally know where everything is. Usually. I call it organized chaos. It’s like my life-I know where everything is and where things are going, but sometimes things are messy and chaotic. And that’s okay.

Recently I learned that I cannot go out of my way to try to make a person see my worth. See, if I like you, I come on strong. I text a lot if I like you. If I don’t, basically my heart is cold. That’s just facts. It’s who I am. Just like my messy desk. My desk may be messy, and cluttered, but it is how my art gets made. And I may be talkative and ramble often, but I am that way, and if I chase you, I like you. And if I text a lot, I like you. If a day passes, or I don’t text until evening, you did something the fuck wrong, probably.

Too often we look at our lives much as we do that messy desk thinking we have to go out of our way to make things just so, so that this person or that will align themselves to what we want from them, but I’m done doing that. I’m too old and come too far to have someone else blow me off, and only contact me when they need something from me. But when I need something, they go missing. If I clean up my desk, I won’t find crap. If I go out of my way to be something or someone else for you, I am not being authentic. My messy desk is authentic. It is real. It is a piece of who I am, and it’s raw. I will never be anything less than raw.

I think I came to the conclusion that there are probably no real friends, and maybe no god. I prayed for 4 years that god would send me love from a man-a loving relationship. So far, I’ve gotten a coke head, two alcoholics, a psychopath (by definition, because he had no feelings,-or so he professed last year when we dated-that he had no capacity to feel). ┬áSo, I give up. I give up on dating, on love, and even, on friendship. Everyone wants something. No one loves the way I do-at no cost. Everyone looks at their messy desk of life, and puts a cloth over it so no one can see the metaphoric mess of their life. Not me. I am not that woman. I am not the woman to put a mask over anything. I will always be me, unabashedly. And so, I am done trying. If you cannot see my worth after me being here, then you likely will never see it. And I know that I must give you up, since you do not want what I want, you only want to give me just enough so that I’ll stay, without having any added responsibility of actually having to go out of your way in any kind of way. That is not who I am, and I will not clean myself for anyone anymore.



I work on many canvases all at the same time while usually also having an art journal handy as well. I prefer to make my journals or recycle old planners. I find it’s more fun to recycle an old planner, or make an art journal out of copy paper or old papers and things.

So that’s a bit about my workspace and how I work. And my philosophy as of late, is that I believe in me. There may or may not be a god in heaven, but if there is, it hasn’t been listening to me at all. In fact, the god you may believe in, has only served me to satan, time and time again. And so, I have hope and faith in myself. I love myself. I know I am not a perfect woman, but I’m good the way I am. Perfectly imperfect. Flawed but beautiful. For so many years I sought approval from people who were obviously not into me, or not paying the proper attention to me, and last night while I slept, I had a breakthrough. And so I am finished. I am finished with seeking others, I seek myself now. God may be dead. Or he/she may not be. And love may exist, but it never has for me. And I say this, not in a sort of “feel sorry for me” kind of way, but as a matter of fact. I think everyone I have felt something for has been extremely selfish.

And so, I make art to heal myself a bit. Soothe the savage beast, and all that.

Currently listening to (courtesy of someone whom I’m fortunate to enjoy spending time with on occasion):