Split Vision

My character, “Amanda”. Photo by Audrey Hotchkiss

I have a problem with love. I don’t love myself as wholly as I love others. This makes me a good person perhaps, but also a monster.

The soft circles I’m made up of fight to be more angular, and lose unless the pressure of hurt, pain, something to be struggled against which is larger than me is applied, something to be reckoned with. My brain sees its fears in every reflection. These ocular chambers cannot be trusted, will not be denied myopic resolve, nor be trained to react differently to the light.

###

When I am working on a farm my body shines and glows, taking on sinewy shape and golden bronze tone. My back muscles seize. I am damaged and incorrectly proportioned for this labor. Old injuries surface and stop me in my tracks, but my fingers, delving into rich brown life are in love. My brain is terse that I’m not jotting the musings of each moment down (hands filled with hoe and weeds), but my heart speaks the language of plants and sighs sweetly.

When I spend days and weeks writing, out of body, sitting stagnant in a chair that must reek of me by day’s end, my heart is satisfied that it has spoken. My brain gives itself high fives and winds down with comforting, less exhaustive endeavors. My body, left behind stiff and unused but for fingertips, aches and grows less responsive, ornery, sullen, and complaining.

When I work in an office I fight with people. Bare teeth. Rue the day I was born on this planet of unremarkable moments, and wish the insidious poison I taste in my mouth from biting my lip wasn’t blood, but strychnine. I learn a different truth: I have no tolerance.

So are the well worn rounds of my desire, pride, depression, and shame broken down by occupation. Am I a body person, a heart person, or a head person? It’s about gender and it’s not about gender. It’s about my search for truth when there’s no truth to be found.

###

He raised me to the hospital’s bright florescent nova and did not proclaim my life a journey for me to discover. Instead my vulva, fresh from the womb of my Mother was labelled “specimen No. 1” and I was degraded for the first time in my blinking moment of an existence. Degraded not because I was assigned “girl”, and to be “Woman” one day, degraded because I was proclaimed fractured, un-whole, because I was set upon a path of lists and checkboxes (illustrated with many points of power and mystery, but still), proclaimed belonging to a path that was not my own.

No path of lists and checkboxes is holy.

Discovery of my body henceforth was defined by predetermined conditions printed in millions of books, on billboards, and writ loudly on boxes at the breakfast table. Instructions dripped from the lips of all who spoke my name. Expectations and projected pitfalls were branded into the minds of every human I met on this bit of spinning rock we call home. I was promised to another in that moment. I was told to rut deeper in the furrow of advertised femininity, chained to a sex and a story brought on by the glance of a man who had cut my Mother against her will minutes before. He had flashed his knife blade, slicing it through her pelvic floor to bring me out at a pace which pleased his pressing schedule and desire to sew a straighter line. His comfortable manly rut. All the rage in 1978. Have we changed?

###

I remember little hearts springing from my eyes the first time I saw a spiked mohawk and rivets, piercings, and tattoos screaming, “I AM ME! FUCK YOUR LISTS AND EXPECTATIONS!” Still, it took me years and shored up courage to shave my own hair from its scalp. I learned the starkness of nowhere to hide from my newly unframed face. No shield by way of lengthy bangs and curtains of hair. Each expression, every fleeting thought and emotion laid naked in the open, recognizable and bare. I was undateable except for the boy with blue hair and tan skin who also loved mischief and disposing of lists.

Acting school isn’t a place to challenge beauty standards, only emotional norms. Our range should be invisible but for the tremble of a lip, a single tear, staunchly empowered vocals, and the lyrics of our limbs. Pretty at first glance always. No “risk” of individual expression will be tolerated in this industry of uncreative creatives. To be popular with casting agents, director’s couches, and audiences painted with an expectation of status quo was our aim.

The week I graduated I pierced my eyebrow, threading spikes and arrows through that fresh hole in my face. I reclaimed the bit of flesh above my right eye in an act of defiance, satiating a starved desire to be myself first, and the “neutral” instrument of a bourgeois patriarchal entertainment industry no longer.

###

I am neither nor. I am both and all.
I am whole.
I am whole.
I am whole.

I whisper to myself in throes of depression and anxiety. I try to convince myself of worth, but when will I be paid a living wage for the labor of gathering “likes” while helping others see beauty where no one else cares to nurture or hold? I admire others far more than I enjoy myself, but I am stubborn and selfish and I journey on.

I like the way I feel until I don’t. I love the way I create until I tear my work apart. The cycle of brilliance and demolition is a rut I am lost deep within time and time again… Raised to the artificial light I was ticked off “female”. Lesser than. Nurturer. Worth/less without a mask of make-up and willingness to wear heels five days a week. I resent this lie which is absolutely not a lie. I plod too modestly along.

I am overqualified, under-qualified, and angry about the paths which may lead me out of debt and constant struggle, and I have no tolerance for them at all. I do not accept social graces as other than the controlling violence I know them to be.

###

A girl, size zero, ate half her yogurt cup in acting class and cried that she was overweight and we attended her, talked it out, held her pain and soothed her edges. I was terrified to exist in the room that day, so many sizes larger than a zero myself, having a body with substance and strength. I cried in anger and angst about the hell this lifetime is. There would be no return to acting class innocence, knowing others’ perceptions of me must be monstrous indeed. I would never be flat enough, tall enough, straight enough, whatever it was I needed to be enough of to work my way out of debt in this, my beloved industry.

###

I do not wish I was less educated, I wish I was less poor. I do not wish I was built differently, I wish the world celebrated humans with bodies. Everything hurts. I am a toothfull thing, dark and mushy in the light, and I do not know how else to be. I am writer and an artist, truth-teller with no fact-check available for my version of truth. I am sensitive and sad. I am at moments wildly excited and hopeful, as only a creative knowing the uplifting fervor of might-be-attainable dreaming will be. I am flawed (oh so flawed) but my flaws are not measured by diamond commercials and lipstick shades, in skirt sizes and shaving cream standards of shame. My flaws are wrapped up in the fact that I have a problem with love. I don’t love myself as wholly as I love others. This makes me a good person perhaps, but also a monster.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support or email me for other options. Thanks.

Creation is Creation is Creation: I Won’t Hush About What Gets Me There

Photo by Sarah Paterson

When one decides to support a creator how much control do they believe they’ve acquired over the artist’s life? Entitlement is a thorny mess, and there is a lot of confusion about how and why creators create…

Every now and then someone shows up and tells me all of the things they think I’m doing wrong — as if I haven’t carefully made decisions about my career, or as if actively believing in something other than the status quo is an indication of a deep confusion on my part. I think it’s important to hear this voice when it pops up, but I also consider it a certain type of violence upon me and my life as a creator. It pricks at the parts of me informed by being a female-enculturated person, a queer, and an artist because through those vantage points I already struggle every day to find my voice despite the onslaught of loud suggestions demanding that I live differently and be different. I could be doing a million more steady and lucrative things than being a queer performance artist, however in the interests of my mental health, my tolerability as a human being, my hard-wired passions, and my love for my real-life communities, I use all that I have to say what I believe. Recently I received a letter from someone adamant that this very blog shouldn’t be a part of my Patreon campaign. In essence they wrote that I should only make money off of certain pieces of my art and not others to be an artist worthy of their support. This person had seen me perform live years ago and they found my patreon, they pledged to support my campaign and remained a faithful supporter for all of 3 days. I don’t decry that in the least, I completely understand changing one’s mind or reconsidering. However, this person took it upon themselves to write a long and accusatory letter scolding me for writing about sexuality and doing the art that I do (which I have always done) which wasn’t explicitly “character acting for stage”. In the letter the person didn’t ask me a single question about what my goals are as an artist or what projects I am currently working on, and they made broad sweeping judgements about how I would never amount to anything if I continue to talk about my experiences as a queer, gender-fluid, kinky, pro-choice artist — that instead I should just “become more mainstream” in order to succeed. Sufficed to say, the letter was a bizarre, badly edited, jumble of heated accusatory emotions which left me thinking that my work must have hit a rather personal nerve somewhere.

A bit about my Patreon campaign: My artist support page says quite clearly that I intend on posting paid content 4-6 times a month, and that my posts are mainly fed from my ABCs Of Kink blog. This blog is the only “content creation” type of work that I do, and so its existence helps me monetize my entire artistic career as I write it. This blog is the “day job” I have created for myself which allows me to build all of my other art. Through Patreon I also release the occasional script or video of my theatrical work, which are usually not available to the general public. Regardless of what I publish 6 times a month though, published content is what pays my bills and it is the only steady income stream that I currently have. A lot of people are very interested in supporting this blog (thank you!). They find comfort and interest in my frank discussions about sexuality, kink, identity, and related matters. People also enjoy paying to take classes with me to learn about creativity, performance, exploring identity, and to pick up BDSM skills. I was recently on a tour performing my newly created solo show, NO SHAME, which premiered at and won an award at the Asheville Fringe Festival. On that tour I also performed at other events and taught kink skill classes to make ends meet. It is only because I am making a minimum amount of money through Patreon that I have the freedom to write and produce theater and tour my work. Counting for people who cap their donations, after fees and cuts are taken I make around $350-$375 a month from this job. This (barely) covers the bills I have to pay each month for insurance, debt, and business expenses. I hope it continues growing, and I’m grateful for what it already affords me. Considering the expenses involved with touring a show, and that pay for performances is extremely low, without also teaching kink and theater classes while on tour I wouldn’t be able to pay for gas to get from theater gig to theater gig. This speaks nothing of hotel bills, car fixes and upkeep, parking, cafe-for-internet charges, actual meal eating, personal necessities, and other road expenses, and it certainly doesn’t cover spending that’s fun or helpful for networking. This blog also helps me find paying participants for my classes!

I am the artist. The career that I grow must be one which allows what I believe to be said as it makes sense to me. These are my creations. They couldn’t exist without me. You can’t truly value one part of what I do without understanding that the work you may like less is still intricately a part of how I came to create the work you most enjoy.

I was told in this letter just how tragically talented I am — if only I’d just perform on Broadway like Lily Tomlin did with her solo show (what have I been thinking?!)! I also take enormous issue that this person defined my fans as garbage, and said that I should be seeking a higher quality of appreciation, implying that by remaining an artist who talks about sexuality and my own exploratory experiences, I was relegating my career to the annals of low-brow coulda-been-ery when what the world really needs is more talented, smart, character actors who will STFU about the ways they’re personally oppressed when they’re not precisely in one place: in character on stage.

It’s evident this person’s missed the entire point of my body of work over the past 20+ years as a professional teaching artist who consistently and specifically focuses on gender, sexuality, inequality, identity, and queerness. I work hard to be privileged enough to be out in a number of ways, and I consider it my responsibility to talk openly about all of these issues as they’ve affected me, so that those less able to feel safe, and those more oppressed or repressed than I am can find refuge from some of their struggles, or a deeper level of self-acceptance. My art, my POV, my garbagey low-brow filthy mouth, body, brain, and typing fingers are the tools I have always intentionally used to act against this brand of erasure and tyrannical oppression. I refuse to be quiet for the status quo’s comfort. My support of people’s identities, my loud mouth, and my critique of the status quo is in service of world peace through self-actualization. Hush money won’t work here, nor will the intoxicant effects of a fairytale story called “Fame” the world keeps trying to sell me. If any version of my art ever moved you, you should also understand that I was only able to make that piece of art because at some point in my life I was given permission to be who I am, and I will not move backwards from where I now stand, and I will enact as best as I can that same service to others who are struggling.

Yes, I am a trained and talented performance artist and character actor. The queer community deserves good actors on their stages, and while I welcome straight and mainstream patrons into my performance spaces, my voice is not for sale or negotiation. Please invite me to be me on your monied mainstream stage, but if you think I’m going to be more socially acceptable there than I have been (and still am) in the gritty off-lit environments of my drag and underground theater temples, you’re just plain wrong. Sure, I perform family friendly shows too — BECAUSE I AM WHOLE. No one has the right to distill me into parts or ask me to choose one part of my existence over another to build a career entirely catered to their comfort. Every overprotective parent afraid of the day they’ll have to address “the birds and the bees” with their kiddo got there because of sex. We are all the products of hormonal desire and the messiness of our emotions mixed with primordial goo. My career is dynamic and appropriate to my audience, just like I believe it is supposed to be.

The characters I create are summoned from my politics and my struggles within this culture which asks me to be other than I am. I have been a professional performer since age 11 and have worked in every facet of theater imaginable in the 28 years since. I am currently in Boston gigging for a month as director of a show, and I can do this because I have committed everything to this career, and I have enough experience to be versatile about how my artistic voice is produced. My current artistic goal, now that I’ve created my solo show, is to tour it as I have opportunity to do so, but also I have other goals. I want to find a home and I want to build an artspace to work out of in a number of ways. I need a certain amount of money and a regular more substantial paycheck to accomplish that. It is one of the things I am steadily working on from a number of angles. I am proficient in performance and writing, I am not proficient in booking gigs and theater management. I would love to be booking more college gigs for pay, and to be engaged in theater tours, sure! If someone wants to tell me I’m doing everything wrong, please do — but then hook me up with a booking manager who is interested in facilitating these opportunities. I have a lengthy catalog of material ready for stage and am a passionate workshop teacher and lecturer at the high school, college, and adult community levels…

I want to thank you, friends, readers, and fans: I find satisfaction and deep fulfillment from performing my work on the stage, from teaching, from writing and also from being in conversation with people who want help opening up to their own sense of self. My fans are not few and far between desperate weirdos. I have touched people through my work as a gender performer, a sex and kink writer, a character actor, dancer, documentary subject, lifelong emerging identity champion, and friend. I have shifted my situation in the last year to facilitate the blooming of my art, and am struggling to make it work. I am struggling, but I am also doing it. I am listening to where there is money to be made within my paradigm of interest so that I can become more grounded doing exactly those things. Do I wish I was more grounded in my life right now? Yes I do. Historically artists who spend most of their time making art have had to diversify their focus to survive. This has meant everything from taking a larger percentage of commissioned work, or marrying into money, to being “kept” by various artistic patrons within understood agreements, or already having money from a family source or elsewhere. This struggle has coined the term “starving artist” we so love to fetishize, and has added names to the ever growing list of people who died poor yet made their inheritors wealthy. I will build my life as I have to, to be the person that I am. I have no intention to cut away any of my proclivities in that endeavor, and I intend on making my money how I need to to continue to make the art that is in me to make. The world has told me every day since my birth to be lesser than I am, and it is exactly through the outrage I have at that very proposal that I find drive, that I find my writing voice, and that I find the characters who even these entitlement minded naysayers purport to be moved by. My fire is not cold because I will not let it become so. The solo show I have written for Broadway, and for every stage, is entitled “NO SHAME” for a reason.

This is what my life/career looks like:

  • I write this blog! It is the only thing that currently pays me regularly. Thank you for supporting me for it if you do! I literally couldn’t survive and create at the rate I am able to without this group of supporters at my back.
  • I gig where I can find gigs: drag, burlesque, solo show performance, storytelling, special appearances, character acting, performance art, clown, dance, spoken word, kink/BDSM performance, and right now I’m in Boston directing a circus show!…
  • I teach workshops and classes and privates, as well as present lectures and serve on panels. I am hired by individuals, couples, groups, conventions, and universities to do this work in a number of subjects ranging from the creative process, to acting, movement, storytelling, cultivating presence, performance skills, kink skills, BDSM knowhow, relationship skills, queer identities, drag, and gender exploration…
  • I build, direct, and manage everything you see me doing — costumes, choreography, booking management, tour schedules, script writing, curriculum writing, props, set pieces, tech design, submission proposals, grant applications, research, web design and upkeep, content research, personal research, editing, promotion, tour driving… (this is a non-exhaustive list).
  • I create content for my Patrons every week outside of what I publish: photos, journal entries about what I’m up to or have been thinking about, videos, personal appeals, script sharing…
  • I cultivate and keep up with many relationships all over the country — personal and creative contacts — because that’s part of the hustle of being an artist, but even more importantly it’s something that brings me pleasure and returns to me love and support when (deities forbid) I experience days ladden with the fearful or exhausted heart of a human creature, rather than the tireless and impenetrable drive of a robot.
  • I eat cabbage, bread, avocados, lentils, and vegan butter when I’m buying the groceries, and I try to make that food stretch. I exercise a little every day. I perform centering rituals and chip away at my writing practice every day. I have very few “days off”, and to date every “vacation” I’ve ever had I’ve turned into a secluded work retreat in order to create content I don’t have the time to focus on when I’m not “on vacation”.
  • I am homeless right now, meaning I am able to survive off such a small income because I am privileged to be offered couches and spare mattresses by a large number of family and friends across the country who open their homes to me when I am in town a few days, weeks, or months at a time.
  • I pay bills and field financial problems as they arise just like everybody else does, but I don’t have much of a margin in which to do so. I deal with problems and I struggle to make it all work. I hustle to figure out my options.
  • I win some days and I fail utterly on others. I pick up the pieces, try to learn to be better than my failures, celebrate when I can, and I move on.

I am a kink writer, a drag king and burlesquer, a teacher, a dancer, a character actor, a performance artist, an activist, a queer, someone not afraid to talk about sex and identity, a connection-driven creator, and a clown. My story is important. My story isn’t being written by the plethora of white men producing dead white men’s plays for white theater companies supported by white money in this country — and I am privileged to be white in that equation. Imagine telling someone without whiteness on their side to just focus on “fitting in” with their art (well, more than we do every single day already)…

Thank you.  Thank you to every fan who’s written me telling me not to give up. Thank you to every person who’s told me that my work has helped them find their own way in this lifetime. Thank you to every queer kid who smiled when I had the honor of teaching them how to tie their first tie, and to every privileged cishet white guy who’s humbly told me my words, performances, or classes have helped them understand something they were having a hard time grasping. Thank you to all the choir I’ve been preaching to who’ve choreographed and co-produced and rehearsed and partied in solidarity — ’cause talking out loud about the obvious shit’s the only thing to do in this world of blind eyes! I don’t need you to pay me if you think supporting my talent means you own me — money could never dominate all of what I’ve got anyhow. I want you to pay me because you believe in me as a human being with a mind worth listening to, and I hope you understand that my survival and the survival of artists who aren’t nearly as privileged as I am, when we’re supported to speak up about our own truths, are incredibly valuable assets to this world. It takes a lot of moxie to make these creations that you like. Ask questions and be humble about the parts you don’t understand: they’re part of the magic of creation in the first place.

Play On My Friends,
~ Karin

If you like my blog, please check out my Patreon Page and support me. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist

~Thank you.

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