Essay: Everything Was a Thought Before it Became Reality or the Process of Exhibiting My Work.
Why showing your artwork matters.
UPDATE: My show is finally up!
I have a friend who calls her mom “The Dream Killer,” and we all know she's called this because she's trying to look after my friend in the only way she can: by saying her daughter’s ideas are too far-fetched, she keeps her from disappointment.
My mother was similar but more scorched earth. On a Saturday when I was 9, she got so tired of a sloppy home, she threw away my art work in the process. Sure, my work was everywhere. But it was everywhere because I wanted to see it.
“Why did you throw it away?” I was crying for about an hour before I asked her.
My mother replied, “You have so many. It’s everywhere. You can produce more, anak.”
“Anak,” means “my child” in my mother's tongue.
By this age, I was beyond soliciting my dad’s help to police my mom. He would simply say, “I support your mother,” anyhow.
Exhibiting One’s Own Work: Why do it?
All thumbs down to dream killers and art burners! I have something else: show off your work as if it’s the biggest thing in the world.
Is it vain to show off your own work to friends? No. But, to a group of friends with promises of cava and crackers? Maybe? But, make a public affair of it? Um, no. That means you love your own work.
A lot of times—I think—people unfairly project whatever negativity on to other people. Often, these projectors have no idea what the person (whom they’re cutting down) has been through.
Personally, no one knows everything I’ve been through—save for current therapist—and even she hasn’t heard everything. My ex has heard a lot of it, and thankfully, she’s able to hold my vulnerable past.
It’s impossible to account for everything that has wronged me in order to make everything right in my world. That’s why I’m confident to be myself. I’m also in my 38th year of therapy.
I can’t get all my precious 9-year-old drawings back. Heck, I can’t even get my nude modeling photos of myself in my 20s because my mom got rid of those too.
But, I can certainly be my own mother and put work up on my fridge that I like.
I can also exhibit it. I don’t have to wait for a gallery, museum, or even social media to “discover me” or even validate me when I can do this all by myself.
And, so I have been doing since 2021 with my personal art pop-up I call “mini museo.”
The photo below is still on my door. It’s ephemera from my fall 2023 show “A Field Guide to Leather Daddies: Cruise to Bruise Edition.”
“Is this a book you’ve published?” Not yet.
“Is it a zine?” Not now. However, I am meaning to contact San Francisco’s Leather District to propose an invitational for artists to converge on a 2 week adventure to all the leather bars during the Folsom Street Fair to draw people in their element—because goddess knows we have to elevate it from it’s current state.
“What, then, prey tell is this?”
It’s documenting. It’s exhibiting. It's throwing something up on a wall each season for Art Open Studios in San Francisco. It is something I do because my motivations run deep.
Each time I exhibit, I claim those lost articles of beautiful drawings of red dragons, biggest-smile Wonder Woman, and the ocean.
Maybe it’s why I did archives work? Consciously, I’ve been persevering and shedding light on the work of other people in history to subconsciously heal the girl who had everyone diss her work and cast it aside! I put myself through library school to save myself, really. As a result, I know the process for creating what’s called finding aids which detail the scope and depth of a collection.
I did all that so our collective culture wouldn’t be lost.
Planning
Half of the fun is planning my exhibit.
I’m often asked, “Are you a non-profit?” Nope. Studio 227 is the given name to all the creative work I’ve done. It is also the number of my art studio which doubles as my office & podcast recording space, and mini museo is the pop-up project.
I tend to do shows that reflect my current creative endeavors. Last year, I put up a show of texts of people I went out on dates with and called it “Dating [lollipops]” in the fall of last year, and spring of last year it was key poems from my upcoming poetry chapbook, “Mornings.”
I’ve only have a few days to go, but after I “blueprint” my work Wile E. Coyote style, I then figure out what to pull together.
My dad would always tell us kids, “Plan yer plan and work yer plan,” in his heavy New Englander accent. So planning is what I do since I want the right amount of work to fit into a space. I don’t want to over crowd things. And if I do, it’s intentional.
It’s an idea first. I have to get it out of my head in order to “see” it as an exhibit, so I start with a drawing.
I think of the exhibit in my mind as if it’s already up and confined to gallery walls.
I’m known at my collective for meticulously spackling and painting my gallery walls I purchase for the show each year. But this year? I’ve asked Art Explosion Studios—my landlord and venue—to patch & paint for me.
Like Van Gogh, I’ve only sold one piece—so far. Not the one pictured above. But at least I sold something. A lot of artists also showing their work will ask me if I sold an illustration. But that’s not the primary reason for why I exhibit.
Revenue aside, I do spend quite a lot of money to show my own work though.
There are costs to honoring your inner child who lost all her childhood artwork.
Sure, it’s an additional $10 to patch and paint, then, the $75 showing fee, and additional $35 to rent the gallery walls, but $120 or so later, I’ve got a pop-up gallery for all of San Francisco—and beyond—to see.
After that, I tape the boundaries with painter’s tape. The reason why I do this is to see how things will fit—or if they can fit! Magically, the plans materialize into exhibit space.
Then, begins the reflection process. Luckily, I’ve tagged the work on my tablet as THEM CATS and can send some select works to my Drive.
I make a contact sheet of the selects. That way, I can look at the entire collection. From there, I get a red Pentel marker and encircle the ones I like. I sometimes will pop by another artist’s studio for input or advice.
Hanging my work is a labor of love. I now have lasers to help me get things right. I’m obsessed with details.
I’m like TV’s Monk looking at blooming exhibit as if it were a murder scene. My fellow artists will walk past and ask me if I sanded the walls smooth enough. Or one guy will tell me I missed a spot. I know they’re razzing me.
I’m happy to be at an artist’s collective!
I’m happy I have my art studio! It’s one of the most adult things I’ve done for my inner child. When I was a little one, I always wanted to “go some place to work” and that was everything Mr. Rogers was doing. I wanted to go to a place to work on my comics, or to paint, or to write, and guess-the-fuck-what?
I do so now.
“When I grow up, I want to be like Mr. Rogers. My own version of Mr. Rogers.” I’d tell myself.
My art studio is the place where I do most of my creative work. It’s my Pee Wee’s Playhouse or my mad scientist lab. It’s sweet. I got acoustic panels on the wall to dampen noise. I’m in a 9x12x20 space. I’ve got a big wall to paint against. A bench for friends to visit and have tea with me. And now I can see that I’ve visualized this space before.
In my wildest dreams, I’ve imagined this.
I mean, I grew up with all the barriers possible, but the desire—the thought—was there. Each time I got passed for a promotion at work or some other disappointment materialized, I’d revisit this “Mr. Rogers fantasy” and tell all my selves, “why not create the life you want?”
While I don’t put on a red cardigan or Converse All-Stars, I do make myself tea, I open my studio doors and I thank all of creation for being around. If I bring my dog (who lives next door with my ex) in, I thank her and I make sure she’s comfortable.
(She’s my only co-worker. Esme is also my muse and nanny. She herds me into submission, and I’m not want for any of that, but I allow her to shepherd me)
The Exhibit
Exhibiting for me is connecting with the public whom I shy away from.
I’ll buy thematic beverages—like one year I did sake-tonics and another kombucha. I’ll get baked goods and have them for studio-goers.
Thankfully, I don’t leave my podcasting equipment in my studio, but sometimes, you’ll see my headphones hanging there.
There are times I’ve even read tarot for the public too, but I try to protect my personal vibes so I can have energy the entire day. I also make sure I’ve got a playlist.
I make each exhibit like a party for my work. It’s a coming out party. A quinceañera (something I’ve always wanted to have, but couldn’t culturally appropriate).
The audience: everyone who wants to connect with me! I make it intimate. I share things I’ve processed—naturally—so that it’s not too exposed or too vulnerable. Why? Because resilience and demonstrating transformation from pain is the highest form of art.
Art is transformation. Exhibits celebrate art. Therefore, I celebrate my transformation from pain to beauty each year.
With all that, what am I willing to show off this season? THEM CATS! It’s my next big thing. Everything is my next big thing, but this thing has taken over the other things I’ve put on the back burner because that’s what creative people do with the things they create.
(At least I do this. You all can tell me if you do this thing too?)
So, I bring you, “The Art of THEM CATS,” in preparation for the process of officially copywriting and trademarking “THEM.”
While it’s not up (yet), the update will post here. Can’t wait to show exhibit pics.
Between now and April 10th, “The Art of THEM CATS” hasn’t (fully) materialized. I’m still researching and compiling all my work, then figuring out what art from my comic are essential, what’s not.
I can’t put everything up, so only the best.
Mamma’s got work to do—that’s me. I’m my own parent. I’m a great mommy & daddy to my 9 year old.
Take a gander—I was putting everything up during opening night…
Past Shows
I’m amazed how planning space and the execution have worked over the years. Here they are in chronological order:
“The Bubble Quotes: Wisdom of Boy George.” Fall 2021
- These were extracted lyrics I loved that came off as quotes from all of Boy George’s songs.
“A Field Guide to Leather Daddies: Cruise to Bruise Edition.” Fall 2022
- Select illustrations of leather daddies in the wild taken from my sketchbook. All done on location at leather bars/leather events.
“Poetry In Situ: The Morning Poems on Exhibit.” Spring 2023
- Six of my poems re-formatted, printed & mounted from my poetry-chapbook-in-progress now entitled, “Mornings.” Along with each poem are QR codes to my voice reading them aloud.
“Dating [lollipop emoji]” (Dating Sucks).” Fall 2024
- I compiled all the archived “break up texts” I received from July 2023 to August 2023, then hand wrote them in cartoon dialog bubbles to remind myself that they actually happened, and to also remind myself that they’re terribly funny.
Tess this is so awesome
I really enjoyed witnessing how you are constantly re-creating your life! The energy buzzed out of this piece. Community art exhibits and installations are such a life-giver... On even the smallest scale. I have to look up leather daddies now. Ohhhh. Just did. 😄