At various points in my life, I knew exactly who I was and where I wanted to be. I always had a plan and a map of how to get to my goal. But now I look back and see a pile of those old dreams; they lay along my path like the shed skins of different creatures.
Once I wanted to be a marine biologist, but almost nearly drowning quenched that rather quickly.
There was a time when I wanted to be an activist, fighting the good fight and rebelling against The Man, but sense got knocked into my head with a thwack from a picket sign in the back of the head and nearly getting arrested for "disturbing the peace".
I once sat on the board of a 501(c)(3) organization, with aims to be a leader in the spiritual community. I desperately wanted to unify a community and heal the hurts through faith. What I discovered was that I didn't have a stomach for politics or power play. After the death threats, constant finger-pointing and discovering what it was like to be made an escape goat, my overt religiosity was cured.
Instead of being the subject of news, I wanted to report it. I worked for different newspapers, mostly doing grunt work, but ever working towards a byline. When I finally got one, my words were edited and twisted beyond recognition. So when "Peaceful Protestors Aim to Save Diverse Neighborhood" turned into "Liberals and Illegal Immigrants Cause Traffic Jams" and "Teens Rally in the Thousands Against Election Fraud" transformed into "Underwhelming Response from Least Participating Demographic", I knew it was time to sign off.
I moved to New York and got starshine and glitter in my eyes. I thought that becoming a Fashionista Nightlife Celebrity was where it was at. If I was the only one who wore a tie to a party one week and saw that everyone was wearing a tie the next week, I thought that my work was done. I was somehow influential. But when I was dividing my time between visiting friends in rehab and going to memorial services for people on the scene who died from overdoses or from drowning their sorrows, I knew the party was over.
Having come from Florida with academic aspirations, I was not readily equipped to rise to infamy in the Nightlife. I knew that I'd have to come out of my shell and drop my stoicism. I got various jobs to better examine the scene and plot my way to the top and become more nightlife worthy. I was a bartender; I was a party promoter; I was a go-go dancer. In the latter incarnation, I became aware for the first time of the power of expression through movement and the body. I thought that I wanted to become a REAL professional dancer. I didn't have a lot of extra money. So, I traded my skills as an artist, painting gaudy murals and making costumes for drag queens (many of who were classically trained dancers) in exchange for lessons. I went on my first audition, seeing others who had been training since before puberty expertly picking up steps and moves without flinching, and knew that I was out of my league. With muffled excuses about forgetting an imaginary bag, I left without even trying.
To hang my first guerilla art show, I had a budget of $100. Most of it went towards printing postcards and buying booze.
The New Rags and
General Miggs were the spotlighted local bands and the artwork of over a dozen artists was represented. Throughout the evening, hundreds of people passed through (including writers for several magazines like
The Fader and
Vice). Half of the artwork was sold and several of the represented artists went on to get shows with established galleries. I went on to help curate and organize more shows. The game plan was to eventually have my own gallery. But after one of the artists I represented in that first show suddenly passed away and the realization that I wasn't making work anymore dawned on me, the dream of having my own gallery became less important. The urgency to make my own work again took me over.
I am sitting five hundred miles away from a home that I never thought I'd have. Until a few years ago, "Bolivar" did not exist in my vocabulary. Nor did my skills include driving. I thought that I'd be a perpetual Brooklynite, ever riding the subways and buses of The City.
I've come to expect the unexpected, to relinquish what I thought I'd be. This doesn't mean that I've abandoned hope or all my aspirations, it just means that I've come to terms with the mutability of my path. Right now is a great time of change and uncertainty. I'm piecing things together and working on forging a new tomorrow, one day at a time. It hasn't been easy and it seems like I've been getting knocked down a lot. I guess it's easy to feel like that when the ground is shifting beneath you. I do have faith though that things will work out, no matter how much changes –because I carry with me all those many different guises, all those memories AND I have the support of my family, friends and loved ones I've collected along the way.
) pose for a picture.
