The Shit-Covered Cheeto
I’m an artist…always have been.
I mess with things.
Can a spoon be a hair-clip?
Can I make glue out of a banana?
For me, the world is a canvas.
Everything in it is an art supply.
Or at least it will be, once I figure out how to use it.
And then my canvas world flipped on its ass.
People were singled out as terrorists because of their religion or the color of their skin.
Children getting off a school bus were met, not by their parents, but by men in uniform.
White house lies were labeled alternative truths.
In short, the world around me began to resemble a shit-covered Cheeto. Which does not make for good art. Or good living.
I could not ignore what was happening.
I put down my banana-scented collage and focused my creativity on the shit-covered cheeto outside my studio.
I became an activist. I had to. Doing nothing felt too much like collusion. I continue to be activated. Daily. Hourly. In the way I know how to be. With the tools I know how to use.
This will be one more place where I wield my pen— and speak my mind—about what is happening to our country, and what we can and must do to change it.
I have learned—not without a fair amount of kicking and screaming—that in this life, sometimes you have to ride the ride they put you on. I did not pick this ride, but, like it or not, it’s the one I’m on, the one we’re on together.
And I intend to ride like a vigilante fucking artist. Until the world once again resembles a cheap carnival instead of an abattoir.
Join me, won’t you?