Welcome to This Right Now!

I know a lot of people. That's what this is really about. Most of them wouldn't be called artists - or rather, society might not call them artists. Mostly, they're receptionists, pizza guys, telemarketers, waitresses, lab technicians, nurse's aides, or students. They don't make art for a living. They work shit jobs and go to class and do their laundry and make mac 'n' cheese for dinner and maybe, if they have a minute, they make a little art. If there's time. There usually isn't time.
Most of these people are happiest when they are making things. Whether it's photography, sewing, or sketching, art is an important part of who they are, even if they can't subsist on it. But it gets pushed to the wayside to make room for more important or more pressing things like feeding the cat or washing the dishes.
What we really wanted was a way to provide an audience, share what we've made, and encourage one another. We wanted to come together and push each other. Forget the laundry or your favorite TV show; it can wait. Come here, make something, show us.
Hopefully this blog will do exactly that.


On that note, I'll leave you with a poem I've been working on.

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on the playground: the patter
of little feet
their tiny shrieks,
singing a song from the Lion King
and walking by,
I’m remembering what we said in third grade
that no matter what our age,
we’d be sisters and bridesmaids
and help raise each other’s kids

but when we were sixteen you had a daughter
and I’ve never seen her
or even met her father
but she’s the same age that you were
on the first day of kindergarten,
when you were wearing polka dots
and sneakers.

it’s been five years
two thousand miles
and I’ve still never seen your baby girl smile

baby girl
why’d you do this to yourself?
shelf your whole life
for some dude and his dick
when we both knew in a pinch
you could get rubbers for free at the Indian clinic

but all you ever wanted
was a ring on your finger
your man coming back from a long day at work
a nursery painted pink
or blue
four walls
curtains drawn
no view

I’d call
if I could find your number
or remember your mother’s
maybe one day I will.
I'll dial and wait for some bravery
to make its way through me,
and finally say,
hey,
how are you?

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And once again: welcome to this right now.