June 10, 2018
It has taken a while to come to terms with the fact that I have changed. Life has altered me and I can’t ignore it or resist it anymore. It’s time to get to know someone new.

Growing up I didn’t have a safe space. I didn’t glean the freedom and benefits that come from safety.

June 2, 2018
Reading Audre Lorde and “the uses of anger” stirs up all the feelings I had from working at Rivstar and having to beg white men for my paycheck. Everyone else was paid on time with no issues, just me. Just me who woke up 2 hours earlier to walk from Ft Greene, Brooklyn to Midtown Manhattan every day and every night after work. I am the one who had to beg and request my paycheck every single week.

All the micro aggressions experienced in Switzerland a fellow artist wanting me to stop being so angry when discussing race and commenting on how she liked me better when I was just the artist who taught her choreography and not a black artist constantly bombarded by racism.

Being force fed that my femininity isn’t real or desirable. My femininity doesn’t measure up against white female femininity I’m too angry to ever be feminine to self-assured to ever be attractive.

Resenting my lack of access resenting my lack of fairness, help, support, Equality.

May 24,25, 2018

It took chest pain, lots of blood,  bare chested ekgs, an overnight hospital stay, a heart monitor, tears, discomfort and an iv in my left arm to write this.

Where does sacrifice and disappointment live? What can it become? What else is possible? What could be better than this?

I hate admitting when I don’t know something.

I don’t know how to implement self care.  “7 minutes in heaven” forced me to face fears,  immersive vulnerability.

A black and white print, a myth called “La Madrada” the patron saint of “caretakers” and sacrifice. I created her to comfort myself and to stay convinced that I mattered that I hadn’t wasted time being a “good girl.”

I gain weight. I lose weight. I gain weight.

I am not poor because I am lazy. I am not poor because I am good for nothing.

Bad caretaker good artist
Good caretaker bad artist

I want a safe space. Safe from Trump and men like him. Safe from anxiety, chest pain, my 3 year old niece (that I am raising with my mother). Safe from grief and neverending loss.  Safe from all of the judgment about being single, unmarried, undesired. I want to know what strangers are going through.


May 3, 2018 - I make art to keep myself company. 

April 29, 2018-- the sweetest taboo, audre lorde -- the usesof anger, blue velvet, brandon.

April 28, 2018-- what does an innocent heart look like?

April 12, 2018 -- page of cups, don’t worry baby (beach boys), 11:11am, jupiter god of sky, thunder,  thor. 

March 29, 2018 -- 6:23am, Miguel Enrique Escalante called home.

February 13, 2018 -- we found a baby rattlesnake trying to slither in through the front door. He moved it to a bush in front of the house, the parents and other babies must be close. 

February 10, 2018 -- a young man in a red shirt attempted to mug me walking home from the walgreens in broad daylight. 

SELF PORTRAIT, 2002,  2014, 61 x 34, Organic cotton rope, copper hoops.

Growing up my mom was a single parent and always anxious about money she heartily passed on that anxiety to myself and my sister. She was obsessed with owning her own home someday it started to become my understanding of the American dream and success. The idea of home started to become an obsession. Thinking about home took me to a mystical and long standing feminine archetype, the spider. The spider can create its own home anywhere it spins an organic substance from its core. I wanted to do that, to feel safe and create my own home. I wondered what my substance should be. At the time I was working on the sculpture I was also studying American History specifically Thomas Jefferson’s home “Monticello.” I learned that at the time it was being built the slaves that built his home were considered the same commodity as the cotton growing around him. I was descended from “a cash crop” so I made my home cotton. I unraveled it to make it look like thread, like a web. This piece has a lot of stories even more than I am typing here… It is special.

I was fortunate enough to show it at the LeRoy Neiman gallery in Harlem and during the artist talk a woman stood up and said she felt that “Self portrait” spoke for generations of women that never had a voice.”

VIRGINS are an 8 print series.

The original meaning for the word “Virgin”  is a “Woman wholly unto herself.”

I printed them with the help of my friend and master printer Toni Mosley of Blue Bathtub Press, Auckland, NZ. She was inspired after seeing the images and performance video from an exhibition I was a part of at La Ira de Dios in Buenos Aires, Argentina. My piece was called “I want you: portraits of my mother.”  I wanted something that was just a woman, any woman who felt whole,  the true virgin.  It was exhibited February 2016, Black Lives Matter Exhibition, MCLA Gallery 51, 51 Main Street, North Adams, MA

All were one of a kind and will not be duplicated.

ESTAMPITAS,  2.5 x 4.25, 3 x 4 in,  paper,  May 2015,
I shot the images for the “Estampitas” in Sicily and made them in Argentina. I have a handwritten poem or prayer on the back of each of them. While in Buenos Aires I was inspired by finding these little “Estampitas” everywhere, a local explained to me that they were historically an intimate way to connect and pray to the ultimate maternal figure The Virgin Mary. Since my project was also about mothers and virgins I made my own estampitas and handed them out to a select few to inspire the same intimate connection.