Second Floor, Second Friday, Second Chance

Good news: If you missed the opening for the Make Something Real show, you will have a second chance to get a signed art book from me in October! My solo show will be on view until the beginning of November. At my second Second Friday event, I will be selling signed copies of Make Something Real, The Unforeseeable Future, and The Doll Project, as well as mini paintings and handmade jewelry, all for less than what I sell them for online.

Friday, October 10th

5 - 9 p.m. 

The Fine Arts Building  

Second Floor Gallery 

410 South Michigan Avenue 

Downtown Chicago 

Still can't make it? Here are the building hours if you'd like to visit at another time:

Monday-Friday

7 a.m. – 10 p.m.

Saturday

7 a.m. – 9 p.m.

Sunday

9 a.m. – 9 p.m.

The show features artwork from 2009 until now. Several recent pieces, including the titular Make Something Real, are now available for purchase for the first time.

Second chances don't always come around, so take advantage of this one!

An excerpt from my new book, 'Make Something Real'

My goal is to publish an art book every 3 years, and since my last book, The Unforeseeable Future, came out in 2022, this is the year for my new release! The new book is entitled Make Something Real. Like all of my books from Imperfect Things onward, the title comes from one of the artworks I made during the time that the book covers. 2022 to 2024 was definitely an interesting time! The blurb and an excerpt are below:

Is a life put on hold still a life worth living? Torn between wanting to participate in art shows and not wanting to get exposed to COVID, I was haunted by the feeling that life was passing me by. I felt like I was living my life in captivity, missing all its forgone pleasures.  This wasn’t the future I wanted. This wasn’t the world I wanted to live in.  I wasn’t the woman I wanted to be. Being an artist was a leap of faith and I was getting tired of jumping. 

In a world of artifice and denial, what still mattered? The pursuit of normal at any cost had led to a culture of complacency and resignation, warnings unheeded, lessons unlearned. The aftermath of an ongoing crisis that most of the world deliberately ignored was a time of missed opportunities and impossible choices. Just when I needed them the most for publicity, the internet platforms I had come to rely on made it harder for my work to be seen, as tech disruption left upheaval and destruction in its wake. Would my newfound social media sites and online communities help me connect with a new audience, or would my participation in them only further tech oligarchs’ nefarious goals? 

Though making art is my escape, this book is also about what I was trying to escape from. Finding solace in creating art in a world on the precipice of disaster, I have made this book an archive of three years of art, grief and grievances. 

Celebrating 15 years at the Fine Arts Building

It's amazing to think that it's been 15 years since I first got my studio in the Fine Arts Building. Over the years, it's been a place where I've been able to continue the bodies of work I originated in grad school while adding new processes.

It's been a place where I can write as well.

It's been a place where I could let my imagination run wild. A place that invites my inner child to come out and play.

It hasn't always been easy. In fact, having a studio has been a great sacrifice. It's why I don't travel. I can't afford to. But I keep going because there's nothing else I want to do but be an artist.

It's been an interior design laboratory where I've been able to try out new ideas.

Even when I'm away from the building, I'm happy to see reminders of it.

A model of the Fine Arts Building at the Lego store in Schaumburg

It's been a privilege to have a space that I could open for public events and offer refreshments for my guests, whether it was Halloween candy, Valentine's Day treats, or even a slice of my birthday cake.

And since the pandemic began, a place where I can give away free masks.

It's been a place where I've received some visitors who are dear to my heart, including friends and family members.

My late Aunt Joyce at my studio in 2012

So much has changed in the 15 years since I first moved into my studio at the Fine Arts Building. I'm grateful that in spite of it all, I've been able to hold on to the space that has become my second home.

Tonight I will be celebrating with a special open studio and you're welcome to join me.

Friday, August 8th

7:00 p.m. - 9:00 p.m.

The Fine Arts Building

410 S. Michigan

Studio 632F

Chicago, IL 60605

And if you can't make it but still want to support the arts, you're welcome to do that here and here. I appreciate everyone who has supported me on the meandering path that has been my artistic journey.

A little exchange program

Since 2020, I've been making collages at home in addition to my studio. I have saved magazines, catalogs, and other ephemeral papers in both locations. During that time, I've made a few collages that are still works in progress because they're missing something and I don't know what. So I decided to put my long-time unfinished pieces in an exchange program, swapping the ones at home with the ones at the studio, and vice versa.

Collages started at home, brought to the studio

Collages started at the studio, brought home

My efforts led to the creation of 7 new mini collages that I sold at 2 pop-up shows in neighboring office buildings downtown.

Before I sold my pieces, I scanned them and made new print-on-demand products with them for my Zazzle store.

The items in the photo above are just a fraction of what's available. And as always, you can customize everything to suit your particular preferences. 

Magenta Crush

Magenta Crush | acrylic and ink on recycled paper and wood | 10"x8"

 

I made this painting for a pop-up show. I see it as part of the lineage of Fuchsia Sublime, Infra-Pink Inferno, and Fluminous Pink.

I don't feel like resting

I don't feel like resting | cut paper on canvas panel | 5" x 7" | 2025

"We are resting," They've said. And I get it. There is psychological exhaustion, trauma, fatigue. Recovery takes as long as it takes. It was presumptuous and cruel of anyone to demand Black activism without acknowledging the devastation of the election and asserting the right to rest was essential.

But then, "we are resting" became the standard response to anyone Black who wanted to protest. Where there had once been an understanding that some might sit out because they were tired while those of us who still wanted to be part of various actions would do so, now "we are resting" became an order. And then, "we are resting" became a refrain of shame directed at any Black person on social media who opposed their monolithic thinking.  But I never asked to be included in the "we" who was resting. Why should I rest when I'm not tired?

When I was growing up, there was a gospel song the choir at my church would sing that had a repetitive chorus of "I'm not tired yet," and it often came to mind when I was being told to take naps when I wasn't sleepy. I've been thinking about that song and have re-experienced that same long-ago frustration many times over the past few months. 

The rest advocates never seem to consider how cathartic protesting can be. To take justified hatred of injustice and oppression and direct righteous indignation like a laser, to be surrounded by other people who feel the same way, to take a stand in public—all of these things are so much better than having to hide anger, misdirecting it, or turning it inwards.

The alternatives to protesting almost always seem to require extra time or money that I don't have at my disposal right now, as well as spending extended periods of time in crowded indoor spaces with volunteers whose idealism never seems to include wearing masks and providing air purifiers. Protests have become the only place where masking is still fairly common. 

Anyway, if you are resting, I respect that. It's not my job to tell anyone what to do or how to feel. Go ahead and keep resting, but stop trying to force me to rest when I don't feel like it.