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I’m on earth for a short time.
In this short time, why would I waste my time making art for others?
For shows?
For money?
For people-pleasing?

I make art about what I want. I paint stories I want to tell, about people who I think should be commemorated. I write about observations from my journey, about the divides that keep us separated, about similarities that bring us together. I honor my ancestors, culture and topography with my body when I dance. The symphony of my ankle bells awaken the soulless.

I drop ideas like America did with bombs in Laos.

Rebellion is in my DNA.

Tiger blood flows through me.

I cannot be controlled.

I do not submit.

I let my imagination run free.

I no longer worry about being liked,
I think about if I like them.

Felt My Face Drip Off copy.jpg


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