After reading Ira Sachs' and JD Samson's pieces on The Huffington Post about struggling as queer artists, I realized that I don't often think about how my past has shaped me as an artist and a homo. I am 31 and living in Brooklyn. My art doesn't support me, but I am lucky to have a job that provides health insurance. My family is poor; they have been paying rent for over 30 years, and they will probably pay rent for the rest of their lives. It was hard growing up in a community where eight out 10 people I knew were struggling in some way or another. They were either struggling financially or struggling with the lack of support in education. My parents were strict, poor and religious. These traits divided us. People that I grew up with couldn't visualize another way being. No one I knew had ever traveled outside California, except maybe going to Mexico for vacation. I had a hunch that I needed something, but I didn't know what it was, and I knew I couldn't find it there. I was 22 when I decided to move to New York.
I recently received the Queer/Art/ Mentorship Fellowship, and artist Louise Fishman became my mentor. Louise invited me to her studio for our first meeting; she welcomed me with a hug, and we shared a piece of bread pudding. I was impressed by how organized her studio and office were, and I remember thinking, "This is the life I want to live." We talked about art, relationships and spirituality. She let me borrow her book The Dhammapada, a daily reader about spirituality. I told her that I am in a relationship with another artist who is very inspiring and supportive and has similar interests as me creatively. This was new to me. I had actually forgotten that this mentorship program was to help queer artists, and it wasn't until this moment that I realized that it isn't because Louise is an older, successful artist that I felt understood; it's because she is also queer.
After getting to know each other, she showed me her work, her personal photographs and some of her favorite books. I remember the first thing I learned from Louise. We were going through her flat files and looking at her drawings, sketches and doodles when she told me not to throw away anything that I work on. To me, this seemed impossible, because I like to throw things away, especially when I am frustrated with something I am working on. In spite of that, I held on to her advice, and it has been beneficial to me already. After our first meeting in her studio, I began making two to three drawings per day for the first time in my life.
Our second meeting was at her studio again. I brought about seven drawings I had worked on the week before, and I showed her the pieces I was really happy about. I tried leaving out the ones I was less happy with, but somehow she convinced me to show them to her. At first I hesitated and said I was embarrassed. She responded, "It's not like you're married to them." That made sense to me, so I took them out of my folder and laid them out for her on a table. She understood my work, and we discussed unfinished parts of the pieces. In these interactions with Louise, I have found something I have been seeking since I left L.A.: an artistic community with the intimacy to sustain and inspire me.
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