I fell into my art genre, tearfully waiting for my head to explode from the pressure of making a major life decision. It’s true what they say about giving birth to new ideas, and deciding on possible roads to take, they are painful and sometimes regretful. Nervously, you dive into your choices, like a first time Acapulco cliff jumper, hoping you’ll hit the right timing of the waves.
As I mentally engage for another art activism workshop this week—I give into its course, not knowing what to expect. I trust that my genuine effort to create something meaningful has its place in the world and like kinetic energy creates a small droplet of human hope into the universe. I see myself far and removed from the distant tragedies in the world, my voice against injustice seems so small and ineffective way over here in East LA. Continue reading