My journey will probably end the way it began, with a poop story.
I can still see the horrifying glee in my dad’s eye as he would retell the infamous diaper story. We didn’t have disposable diapers when I was a toddler. They were cloth. And would get soggy and saggy. According to legend, I would escape mine upon a full deposit.
Depending on what was actually in the diaper would dictate my attempts at cave painting. I painted the walls of my bedroom. When outside, I’d decorate the stucco on the outside of the house. Where ever and when ever the diaper dictated, something would be painted in poop.
About the time I am potty trained, my brother arrives and once again I become obsessed with poop. And with color.
Making the connection between eating carrots and orange poo, I proceed to eat my Romper Room liquid crayons and shit paisley.
My mother is horrified. A state she will maintain about me until her death in 1985.
In High School, I get excited about drama classes. I think I want to act. My mother’s business partner who had grown up in Vaudeville would bark at me, “Practice, practice, practice.”
It would take me 40 years to fully realize what it was she was saying.
My parents divorced when I was 18. A couple of years later my mother met the man who would become my step-dad and first mentor. I came to live with them in order to get my shit together. My mom pushed me into nursing. It was practical. I wanted to go to art school. Not so practical. My mom won. She always did.
But it was my step dad who said the indelible words, “You are missing your calling.” He was right.
Within 2 years of graduation I quit nursing. And then my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. A few weeks before her death, she asked me what I really wanted to do with my life. I told her, “I want to be an artist.”
In the late 1980s I managed to land a job in computer graphics spending the next 25 years as a print media designer.
Volunteerism and community art projects have been a prominent part my activities. In the late 1990s, I was active with Echo Park Arts Festival. More recently, I worked with Historic Highland Park Neighborhood Council and was a board member of Lummis Day Community Foundation.
In 2010 I founded The Haggus Society, a non-profit feminist arts group for women over the age of 40.
I have been a frequent contributor to independent publisher, Black Scat Books. During 2016, as Pink Buddha, I wrote a monthly advice column, “Ask PB” for the online magazine Le Scat Noir.
Under the Black Scat imprint, I authored two books. One as my performance character, Pink Buddha, When I Grow Up And Other Mantras. And the other, The Little Red Book Of Commie Porn with artist Norman Conquest. Both are now out of print.
In 2013 I suffered a series of small strokes brought on by the stress of trying to do it all. A year later, I shuttered the doors of The Haggus Society.
The death of my father in late 2017 was the catalyst for my return to painting. Through a process of unlearning I created my “Other Hand” series. After two years I returned to using my dominant hand.
Dab Art, Co. began representing my work in 2019.
The pandemic and economic lock-down of 2020 found me witnessing the effects of trauma –both in real life and in social media. This prompted me to move beyond the canvas and explore installation art. I hope to be able to realize the first of several installation projects by the end of 2022.
Once in a while, I manage to feed the cats and bird on time. And sometimes even my husband.
My work is being collected by weirdos across the U.S., Europe and Australia.