Hello love!

Man oh man, how did we get here? 

 

TLDR; it was a long journey, going on decades in the making now- for me to get my shit together and heal my Self in order for the stars to align and for me to finally feel BRAVE enough and SUPPORTED enough to finally GO FOR IT.

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If you want more details on how I landed here, keep reading...

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I have had a wild and varied career, with early beginnings as a child selling sweetcorn and working at the local greenhouse. I picked up gigs at many local restaurants, taking on all sorts of positions in the bar & restaurants as my age allowed, and as job changes allowed. Worked at gas stations, factories, foundries, and always intertwined in my career I always seemed to find myself gravitating back toward the restaurant industry. 

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I dabbled in motherhood; helped raise a stepson and then went on to have two more sons of my own. Spent a fair amount of time being married, then I got divorced, and then went and got remarried again some years later. That relationship has granted me two bonus kids, another stepson and the stepdaughter.  I am still in knee-deep in this mom business; my youngest is now 14 and trying his damndest to be a man. The middle boys (my oldest & his youngest) are spreading their wings with adult careers, testing out new living situations and loving on their long-term ladies. Was awarded the title of Nina (GRANDMA) when the daughter provided us with the absolute joy of two grandsons.

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I have been an artist as long as I can remember. My earliest art memories were from preschool; the smell of tempra paint and those giant off white sheets of paper, giant tables and a real easel that was bigger than me and super sturdy. The trays held these heavy white plastic pots filled with water for washing brushes, clean brushes and these great amounts of paint. I don't remember the school I went to, but there's photographic proof (my school photo) of me and this amazing set up. The smell and the tools had this allure that just drew me in. I never knew how to define my art and I still struggle with a defining label. I use multiple mediums to create my work, sometimes all together, and sometimes just individually. Art forever took hold of my soul at a young age and has never let go. Most recently, I created a public art series entitled Emotional Damage last year (2022) for folks to step into themselves and work on that inner healing. I am currently building a website to showcase my art, showcasing works past & present since it is all currently scattered across my home and the interwebs.

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Writing has been a blessing and a curse for me. Having a forward conversation with my parentals wasn't often an option. I was talked over, dismissed, and chastised for having an opinion differing from that of my elders. I was wrong, no matter what. It was hard to have a conversation due to those things, so I wrote. I wrote them letters to display my big feelings and contain my thoughts all together, since inevitably it would be heated, loud and often ended with me in tears.  I wrote in my journal until my journals were stolen and read. Then I was grounded for saying FUCK YOU in big giant letters to those reading my innermost thoughts and invading my privacy. I was punished. Not the snooper step brother; the one who stole my journal. No backlash for the parentals who decided I wasn't allowed to be in my body alone and have the thoughts/ feelings/ emotions I was having. I was punished for writing FUCK YOU. I was told I wasn't feeling this way but rather I was actually feeling that way instead. How can you actually define what other peoples' feelings are? You aren't in their head, or their body?! What gives you the right?!  It hurt so deeply to have my privacy breached. 

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So I stopped writing. 

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For a very long time. 

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I only wrote what I had to for school, since I wasn't allowed to express my inner thoughts. It makes sense to me now, why I only create in fits and spurts. I've been holding on to this fear + pain for a very long time. Here we go, encroaching upon 42 years of life. Done with other people's expectations of me acting or behaving or believing in a certain way. I write for me now. 

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And to whomever I offend...

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Start a line. Clutch your pearls. Gasp if you must. But I don't fucking care. 

 

Because I do not give a single fuck about your opinion of me.

 

 

 

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Jessica has written on and off for years, usually in fits and starts from blogging (Accomplished Anything?), select private letters and things that she just needed to get off her chest. Healing is heavy; and there seems to be a collective attention toward our own inner healing. Beginning 2023 is our time to release it into the world.

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Keep your eyes peeled for more food related content as well as forays into the psychedelic landscape. There are LOADS of stories to be told from the psychedelic frontier.