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The Question That Won’t Let Me Go
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a question I can’t shake:
How do I keep making art while the country is slipping into fascism?
How do I sell things—beautiful things, deeply personal things—when everything in me is screaming that the world is on fire?
It feels impossible to reconcile.
The Voice of Doubt
There’s a voice in my head (maybe you’ve heard it too) that says:
“Art isn’t life or death.”
“You’re not feeding people.”
“This is indulgent. You should be doing more.”
But here’s the thing I keep circling back to:
I am doing what I know how to do.
I’m staying human in the face of systems that want to strip us of our humanity.
Art as Resistance
I am creating—because creation is resistance.
I am making things that reflect softness, weirdness, rage, grief, love—because we are being asked to choose numbness or cruelty, and I refuse.
I am building a life around my art—not to chase money, not to distract, but because I believe artists are the soul of a culture. And ours is under attack.
Financial Security Without Shame
I want to be financially secure. I want to never worry about money again.
Not because I worship capitalism—but because I want to be free.
Because I want to help.
Because I want to use every resource I have to take care of people, to show up, to fight back.
The system is rigged, yes. But survival is not selling out.
Joy is not complicity.
Rest is not betrayal.
And making art is not ignoring the moment—it’s answering it.
Choosing to Build Anyway
So I’m choosing to build anyway.
To make things that feel like a middle finger and a love letter.
To offer up my imagination as a place where people can breathe, cry, remember who they are.
To let my work carry some of the weight of what’s too big to name.
Why This Matters
This isn’t just about my livelihood.
It’s about staying intact.
It’s about not letting the world turn me into something I’m not.
To Anyone Who Feels the Same
So if you’re here, reading this—thank you.
If you see yourself in this—keep going.
If you want to help—support artists. Share their work. Buy their prints. Send them a kind word.
We need people who can still feel.
We need people who are building something else.
Even if it’s small.
Even if it’s weird.
Even if it’s just a painting on a wall that reminds someone: You’re not alone. Keep dreaming.
That’s where I’m starting.
And I hope it grows into something big enough to carry us both.
