Things have been quiet on the art-creation front. Not because I lack ideas for art, as is wont to happen when I am in the grips of depression or struggling artistically, but because I have been exceptionally busy with a project that includes more than just myself. The project? Flush Fatale.
When I was a young woman, perhaps 13 or 14, I was given a book on Feminism from an older cousin. I smiled and thanked them for the book, but as soon as I brought the book to my room, I hid it away in the back of my bookshelf. ‘I am not a feminist!’ my young mind retaliated. Feminism was a bad word reserved for radical, horrible people who… who… Why was Feminism bad?
How can you sell art without turning into a robot that passionlessly make what others want? You your soul to the devil at the crossroads. No, seriously. Sell your soul. I mean that in the most kind, compassionate way possible.