Hawaii: A Short Excerpt on my Island Adventure and how I got there…

Almost a year ago, James and I participated in a project with Meow Wolf Grapevine, where we created a costume for a runway performance. All of the wearables in the show were made from trash.

What kind of trash did we want to use? Something dystopian and cyborg-esque. Tech waste.

We wanted the project to juxtapose the nostalgia we all feel for old technology—video games, CRTVs, Nintendo DSs—with the reality that so much of this tech waste ends up in landfills. Why? Because technology is constantly upgrading. That charger you used for your iPhone? It’s no longer compatible with anything. That was the 2024 charger—I need the 2025 version now. Eventually, all of it has nowhere to go but the trash.

So we gathered as much of that old tech as we could and made a costume out of it. But it ended up being more than just a costume—it became a character. A cyborg that paid homage to Donna Haraway. The materials shaped the character’s form: a chain of Nokia cell phones became a literal chain; motherboards formed a vest; wires wrapped around my waist. The shoes were a chaotic collage of tech boards, and my head was a CRTV.

The project was such a rewarding experience. We got to meet so many people in the Dallas area pursuing fashion design. My friend, Ava, and I created the music I walked to—an eerie mishmash of sounds from Luigi’s Mansion. I modeled the costume and, honestly, I felt like I ate. After the performance, we ran around Meow Wolf in costume, drank ranch waters, and acted like hooligans. It was a great night.

I especially loved that James and I got to collaborate as a couple. It was one of our first professional contracting jobs as artists. The project stipend was small—only $300 for both of us—but we thought it was worth it. It was fun, and it was for Meow Wolf.

The performance itself felt like a celebration of diversity. There were sexy burlesque dancers, queer folks, and many costume designers honoring their Hispanic heritage through their work. At the end of the show, a woman from Southwest Airlines walked out to announce that they had sponsored the event to bring awareness to sustainable and green art-making practices. Then she said they were gifting us all free round-trip tickets to anywhere Southwest flies!!!

We were stunned. James and I looked at each other and screamed, “WE”RE GOING TO HAWAII!”

With grad school starting in the fall, this might be the only relaxing break I get until I graduate. Maybe even until I’m licensed. Who knows.

We seriously wouldn’t have been able to come here if it weren’t for that project. The fact that the tickets were a complete surprise made it all the more magical. Fast forward 11 months, and I’m sitting in our hotel lobby on the beautiful Big Island of Hawaii—Hilo, to be exact.

I’m hoping this trip will be a time to really sit with nature. To sink into it. To tap into contemplative awareness, for creating art, connecting with the world, and just being human.

Even walking out of the airport, I passed a flower bed full of plants I’d never seen before. I actually said, “Are those flowers real?” James laughed and replied, “Yes… Obviously.”

It made me laugh too. In Dallas, in my postmodernist world, if something is beautiful, it often feels fake, or like a derivative of something real. Like it’s only like the real thing. But here? It’s just… real.

I thought about the K-Cups my parents use at home. “Macadamia-flavored Hawaiian Coffee.” It tastes like plasticky coffee with some nutty powder stirred in. But this morning, sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for James, I had my first real cup of coffee here. It was in a plain white paper cup with a black plastic lid and an unbranded brown sleeve.

I expected it to be mid, but when I took a sip, it was bursting with flavor. A medium-dark roast—smooth, almost creamy. Unlike the coffee I’m used to, which can sometimes feel savory when black, this tasted more like dessert. The macadamia flavor was unmistakable and made me crave a big stack of pancakes. It was so rich and deep, fully embodying the nut itself.

It’s wild, seeing the difference between the simulation of something and the real thing.

The next day, James and I went to Ken’s House of Pancakes for a traditional Hawaiian breakfast—Loco Moco. The atmosphere was amazing. It felt like we’d time-traveled to the 1970s. It reminded me of Fire Sign Café in Tahoe City, which we visited last year. That place was in a ski town, with vintage memorabilia from the ‘70s and ‘80s—same cozy, lived-in feeling. Ken’s had the same energy. A classic building, memorabilia everywhere, likely the same family recipes, still family-owned. That’s something I look for a lot when I travel. Not only transporting a place but also time. 

I got the Vietnamese iced coffee and the Teriyaki Beef Loco Moco. James got banana pancakes and the traditional Loco Moco, one of the restaurant’s “Sumo Specials”—a food challenge. We passed on the challenge, though; we had more places to be and didn’t want to be too full to move around in the heat and humidity! We took our leftovers back to the hotel and then headed to the Bioreserve Botanical Garden.

On the drive there, I was mesmerized by the jungle surrounding us. At the reserve, I saw plants I never imagined existed. Orchids clung to the sides of trees. Every orchid I’ve ever owned has died. But here? They just generated like flowers in Minecraft.

We followed a trail that led to a small black sand beach. A rocky peninsula jutted out into the ocean. James said we should take a picture there. He set up the camera and had me stand on the tip of the peninsula, framed perfectly by the ocean.

I struck various poses, as if there was a live photographer present.

He walked up and joined me.

“Should we kiss for the photo?” I asked. We kissed.

Then he got down on one knee.

He pulled out a small box. Inside was a beautiful ring with a central diamond surrounded by a starburst of small white sapphires. Later, I learned the diamond came from his grandma Dianne’s engagement ring. She passed a few years ago, and James was devastated by her death. Having her stone made it so much more meaningful.

That feeling—“This is so magical and beautiful. Where I am, this moment, this energy... is this real?”—it felt like a dream.

Of course, I said yes.

We couldn’t have imagined that a project made from tech trash would lead us to this moment—on a black sand beach in Hawaii, engaged, swimming with sea turtles, and reflecting on everything I’m completely grateful for. I was sad to leave Hawaii of course, but couldn’t be more excited about my future. Especially one with James!!

A Career In The Arts: Idealized or Ideal?

My whole life, I’ve wanted to be an artist. When I went to Fine Arts School, it wasn’t really talked about that many of us would end up working service industry jobs after graduation, making art “on the side.” Some of us have jobs in the arts, and maybe 1 or 2% are making art full-time—which, for most of us in my cohort, was the dream. Or at least, it’s what we imagined being a “real” artist meant.

Being an artist in America is wrapped up in a capitalistic narrative that says you’re not really one unless you can financially support yourself doing it. Which, let’s be real, not many people can. Logically, I know you’re an artist if you make art. But the competitiveness and scarcity mindset of capitalism tells us otherwise.

Even though I understand all of this, and I’m still quite young, I still beat myself up for not achieving what often feels like an impossible goal. That feeling of low self-worth only deepens when I get rejection emails week after week, when I compare myself to peers, scrolling through social media, and seeing handfuls of content romanticizing being a full-time artist.

If you’re an artist or creative, you’ve probably stumbled across YouTube videos with titles like:
“How I Made $15,000 This Month Selling My Art | You Can Do It Too!”
“A Day in the Life of a Self-Employed Artist”
“Financial Breakdown: How I Make Money as a Full-Time Artist”

Maybe these videos are algorithmically targeted just for me, but I have a feeling a lot of us see them.

The content is typically a dreamy montage: someone starts their day with matcha and journaling, makes a yummy breakfast, then dives into their art practice, documenting it all with aesthetic lighting and lo-fi music. They break for lunch, take a calming walk, open a PO box full of fan mail or free art, and go back to creating. I do enjoy watching this kind of content—it’s cozy, relaxing, and aspirational. But after watching, I often feel a wave of self-loathing or jealousy.
Why can’t that be me?
How do I get to that point?
Is that the dream and final form of an art career?

Those financial breakdown videos—juxtaposed with serene visuals of yoga, painting, and matcha—almost remind me of Andrew Tate content, if he were a mid-twenties artsy girl instead of a psychotic misogynist. I know that sounds extreme, but hear me out: both display a romanticized, curated version of their lives. Both say, “This lifestyle is accessible. You can have this too. Just work hard!!” And then he gets you to sign up for hustle university. 

Now, to be clear, most cozy self-employed art YouTubers aren’t peddling pyramid schemes. But the message is still alluring: this isn’t just what I have, it’s something you can have too.
Is that true? I don’t know.

There’s one YouTuber I love, Uncomfy aka Tammy. I admire her so much: her words, her art, her energy, her apartment, her whole vibe. She’s definitely made the kind of videos I’m talking about. For a while, she was a major source of inspiration for me. But I’d also end up feeling inadequate after watching her. I’d wonder:
Why am I not mailing out hundreds of orders each weekend?
Why can’t I have that gorgeous apartment in Denver, that chill creative rhythm, that success?

Recently, Tammy posted a video announcing a big pivot. She shared that she’s no longer making handmade art as part of her business. Instead, she’s moving toward manufacturing goods and outsourcing labor. She opened up about the physical and emotional toll that making art all day took on her—how she often neglected eating, sleeping, and basic needs just to maintain the illusion of a cozy, effortless life.

Tammy seems genuine, and honestly, I’m so glad she shared that. It offered perspective. It reminded me that behind that aesthetic, there was real strain and sacrifice. It also made me feel less alone, less “incompetent” for not selling out my own shop every weekend.
(Though honestly, we shouldn't feel incompetent in the first place—but many of us do.)

In her video, Tammy also spoke about the emotional consequences of turning your passion into a business. She described the burnout that comes from making art prolifically, not for joy or expression, but purely to make money. That hit me hard.
Burnout is rough in any job. But when the thing burning you out is also the thing that gives your life meaning? That’s a different kind of grief.

Art is my solace. My sanctuary. My spiritual practice. It’s one of my reasons for being alive. If doing it started to feel like something that was hurting me—or if I had to stop altogether—I don’t know what I’d do.

So where do artists find balance within capitalism?

I think it would help if content creators shared more transparency around what their day-to-day really looks like. I’m sure it was hard for Tammy to come forward, especially given how much of her brand (and income) was tied to that image. But she did it. That’s brave.

I don’t have a clean conclusion. I don’t have a five-step plan for solving this tension. But I do think we need to keep talking about it—careers in the arts, what it actually means to be an artist, and why certain creative lifestyles get romanticized in the first place.

Just some food for thought. And it might take a while to chew.

The River Flows In You

Whirlpool 22 × 28

Why am I constantly thinking about whirlpools and vortexes? I long to be near flowing water—a river that spirals endlessly, a bursting gully, a wishing well where gold and silver coins spin into the depths, granting secret impossible wishes.

Whirlpools and vortexes pull you in. There’s a primal instinct, a magnetic force that defies explanation.

I don’t live near water, but I take what I can get. After work, I jog around a pond near my job. On weekends, I’ll drive out to New Braunfels, TX, just to get in a turquoise stream and feel it moving. Water takes you out of the humdrum, and transports you into another universe where time is distorted. This feeling is such a stark contrast of the capitalistic reality we are used to. Things are being shoved in your face. You look at your phone and there’s a million messages, a to do list 10 pages long, and at the end of the day it does not feel like enough. It can feel like everything is falling apart around us, especially now. This is how I escape that feeling. Just for a day or a minute…  

Flowing water makes me reflect on what it means to be conscious.

Cloud + Whirlpool 22× 28

Book Look…

At the end of Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha, the river symbolizes enlightenment. Siddhartha endures suffering, dissatisfaction, and a relentless search for meaning throughout his many lifetimes. But the river teaches him stillness. It becomes an allegory for contentment—for surrendering to the natural flow of time.

Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to watercolor as a material. Watching pigment bloom and spread across the page feels like a meditation—like I’m trying to mimic the river’s rhythm in visual form.

Pansies 32”x40”

But water isn’t just serene. When it’s black, it becomes something else entirely—sublime, terrifying, and unknowable. It shifts into a symbol of death, infinity, and of everything we fear.

This duality fascinates me. Every time I am with water, whether I’m watching it move, utilizing it as a medium, or floating down a river, I feel like I’m touching both life and death. That’s what the endlessness of time feels like.

Hymns From Bladee… River Flows In You

WORKSHOPS

Watercolor: Painting Dreamscapes

4/20/2025

1-3 pm

2313 Beatrice St. #100 Dallas, TX 75208

Discover the unique beauty of granulating watercolors in this immersive class, where students will learn specialized techniques to create rich, textured washes and dreamlike effects. Using Gansai Tambi’s granulating watercolors, we will explore blooming techniques to bring depth and texture to our paintings. Students will be guided through the process of creating an ethereal, fantasy-inspired dreamscapes, embracing the unpredictable and organic nature of watercolor

P A I N T | D R I N K T E A | E A T S N A C K S

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*Paintings available for S A L E
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Gender Revealed

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This story reflects true events based on my memories with names changed for protection. Enjoy!

My first real job—the one I could actually drive myself to—was at a bakery in East Dallas. Every Tuesday and Wednesday during my senior year, I’d drive myself to school and then to work, feeling like a real adult who could handle things on her own. My coworkers were mostly other high school girls or young adult burnouts. This was ironic because it was supposedly one of the premier bakeries in Dallas. My manager, Dylan, was a ridiculously hot 28-year-old with tattoos who played bass in a band. He reminded me of Damon Albarn from The Gorillaz when he was younger. He had graduated from my high school, which I’m pretty sure is the only reason I got hired on the spot. Even though he was a decade older than me, I saw him as a mix of a forbidden crush and a best friend. He didn’t feel like a manager at all.

Then there was Walt, the other manager—a 40-year-old douchebag. I barely ever saw him because he was always “out on deliveries,” which really just meant he left early every day to take out his dogs. Dylan would head out right as I arrived at 4:30, leaving me and my teeny-bopper coworkers to our own devices half the time.

One Wednesday afternoon, my coworker and I were standing around having girl talk since it was slow. She was telling me about her first time going to a rave - a wook was offering her molly when a couple walked in, wanting to order a gender reveal cake.

At 17, attending a performing arts high school, I had zero interest in kids or family life. Most of my friends at art school were gay, trans, or gender-nonconforming, so the whole concept of a gender reveal cake felt cringe. But in the area of Dallas where the bakery was located, they were all the rage. If you don’t know what a gender reveal cake is, basically, you get a cake and put either pink or blue icing inside, so when you cut it open, it announces whether the baby has a penis or a vagina. So fucking weird and unnecessary.

The couple explained their elaborate idea—a Pokémon egg cake with the phrase, “He or she? What could they be?” We get it. People always thought they were being unique, quirky, or clever with these things, but 9 times out of ten, I’d seen the same ideas played out several times. I fake laughed with her about how cute the idea was. I always imagined myself role playing as Patrick from that episode of Spongebob when Squidward transforms The Crusty Crab into a fine dining establishment. The high pitched baby voice saying overly zealously, “MAY I TAKE YOUR HAT SIR?? MAY I TAKE YOUR HAT SIR??” was too spot on. That’s the persona I took on in front of customers. 

Then the woman handed me a sealed doctor’s note containing the baby’s gender. I took it to the back, ready to jot down the icing color, but when I opened it, it wasn’t a simple “It’s a girl” or “It’s a boy.”

It was an entire medical record, pages of 10-pt font, filled with medical jargon about the fetus. Oh, shit.

I called my coworker over to help me decipher the mess. She was a little older than me, so maybe she could figure it out. Finally, after scanning through the overwhelming text, we found the word “female.” I scribbled “pink icing” on the order form and moved on. The couple picked up their cake that Saturday, had their party, and I didn’t think about it again.

Then came Tuesday.

I walked into work to find Walt staring at me, arms crossed, foot tapping. My coworker looked at me with wide eyes, silently screaming, "We fucked up."

Walt wasted no time. "Do you know how long I’ve been on the phone fixing your mistake?!" He was tall, slightly buff, with shoulder-length wavy hair—the kind of guy who definitely blasted Nickelback or Creed in his car. He wore bedazzled jeans with embroidered crosses on them and ripped-up graphic tees, convinced he was running the show.

"I’m not exactly sure what I did," I said cautiously.

"You screwed the pooch!" He threw the gender reveal order form onto the counter. "You ruined their special day. Their special surprise. The baby was a boy! Why on earth would you write 'girl' on the order form?!"

"What?!" My coworker and I were baffled.

"The doctor’s note literally said 'female'—how was it a boy?!"

"The MOTHER is a female, you dimwits!" Scot snapped.

Oh. Fuck.

"I’m sorry, Walt. They just handed me this massive document filled with charts and medical terms—I had no clue what I was looking at."

He didn’t care. Instead, he put his hands around my neck and squeezed, "pretending" to strangle me. He rocked his hands back and forth, “pretending” to kill me.

I locked eyes with my coworker, unsure if this was real life. Then I dissociated.

"Next time, little girl, don’t take any cake orders. Apparently, that job’s too grown-up for you."

I thought about telling my parents, but I was scared they’d make me quit. Looking back, I wish they had. Instead, I told Dylan.

"WHAT?!" He was furious. "That is completely unacceptable."

The way he defended me was kind of adorable. I imagined him as my boyfriend instead of my boss.

"I’m texting Rosalyn about this. Fuck that guy. He’s such a fucking asshole." Rosalyn was the owner. I had seen her once but never spoken to her, even though at this point I had worked there for about 6 months. I was worried that if she found out I was causing “problems,” she wouldn’t like me.

The next week, Rosalyn came into the bakery. She half apologized for Walt on his behalf, saying she had "talked to him about his anger problems" and that his behavior "wasn’t acceptable."

"I don’t think he’ll be mean to you anymore!" she giggled.

Yeah, right.

Every shift after that, Walt would smile through gritted teeth whenever he spoke to me.

"He fucking hates me," I thought.

Oh well. Dylan liked me. That’s all that mattered—for now.

Dallas Art Book Fair 2025

Thank you to everyone who came out to the Dallas Art Book Fair! It truly warmed my heart to see the city of Dallas show up for the arts, especially for something as niche as zines and books, haha! Watching people observe my art, even if they are just passing by is so unbelievably rewarding it makes me want to cry! I had an amazing time, and it's my favorite fair I’ve been a part of so far. I am eternally grateful for this community of artists, friends, and enthusiasts. 

I was lucky enough to get a little feat. in the Dallas Morning News! 

Let me tell you about my latest zine featured at the book fair, Eternal Recurrence. This zine is an interactive journey. Imagine your life on repeat for eternity. You do this to escape death, but is this solution really better? What would you do to prepare for the journey? 

The process I used to make this zine was a process called Gocco Printing, which is how I’ve created many of my mini zines so far. A Gocco Printer is a mini screen printer from Japan with disposable bulbs and screens. I’m interested in this process for exploring death and mortality because there is a finite number of prints that can be made by Gocco printing because they no longer make the materials to do it. I have to scour the internet to find Gocco printing supplies.  

Find out more about Gocco Printing HERE 

Eternal Recurrence Zine

$6.50

Interactive Mini Zine

Hand Gocco Printed

Memes + Stickers Included

Quantity:

Add to cart

Ghostgrl UPCOMING EVENTS!!!

SF ART BOOK FAIR RECAP

Last week James + I went to San Francisco and we were lucky enough to catch the tail end of their Art Book Fair!!! It was the biggest art book fair I’ve ever seen. There were at least 5,000 people there and we got there Sunday afternoon.

The vendors were all incredibly innovative. After seeing what they have on display I def understand why I was rejected from this fair. I have a long way to go, and it seems like I just have so much more work I have to make, and so much work to put into realizing my artistic vision. I know I will get there, but it will take so much more work and time. I am a baby, but I was there to learn and soak it all up.

San Francisco Art Book Fair

Courtney Sennish

We splurged and purchased this gorgeous print by Courtney Sennish, a printmaker local to Oakland, CA. So cool because we both follow her on instagram so it was cool to see her stuff IRL. SF was dope af!! We will be back, and if youre an artist looking to see some cool shit, we highly recommend the SF ART BOOK FAIR

:3 MEOW WOLF TRASHION SHOW RECAP

7/11/2024 James Daniels (AKA CLIFFSIDE FLOWERS) and I participated in Meow Wolf Grapevine's Anniversary Show that was an amalgamation of performances, fashion, drag, and games, that came together to form a “Trashion Show”. 

Our piece Titled "2003 Garage Sale" was created by collecting donated old electronic waste. This included everything from broken Xboxes, cell phones, wires, record players, you name it. Those pieces were one by one deconstructed to extract motherboards, chips, fans, and all the cool shiny bits that are underneath the typical beige and boring shell. The motherboards and chips were strung together, similarly to how chain mail is, in order to form an armored vest. Cell phones were linked into a chain with charms, the phones themselves acting as if they were jewels, despite their clunky nature. Old platform heels from high school became a collage surface for these green tech chips to be bolted into. I felt like the headless horseman, although instead of a pumpkin for a head, I had a 2003 gaming TV. We attached an N64 controller to give the illusion that I could be played. 

I walked to a sound montage of snip its of our favorite old game cube games, such as Luigi’s Mansion that was a composition by m3 + my fwend Ava Blankmeyer. I walked onto the stage with the sound of of Luigi slipping with a “WOAH” and losing all his coins. I then turned on my TV that powered LEDS that made my eye SHINE.

The experience was colorful, overthetop, and carefree. Which is what I love about MEOW WOLF. All the other designers and modeled were insanely nice + cool. We are lucky we got to do this project together as romantic + creative partners!! Lets keep going. We even got a feature in The Dallas Observer which you can observe HERE

Costume by James Page Daniels + Kenley Turner

Model: Kenley Turner

Walk Track: Ava Blakmeyer + Kenley Turner

THANKS MEOW WOLF + SOUTHWEST AIRLINES FOR DOING THIS!

Playlist 5.27.24

Where did the time go? Here we are…

Yesterday I spent my whole day alone in my home working on art. The thing I’ve always wanted. But I was sad and lonely all day. What is wrong with me? When will I find the circumstance that is perfect for me? And why will I never be satiated? I am a spoiled brat. No matter what I get I will always want more and something will always be missing. Is that the curse of all artists?

Playlist 5.20.24

On a Roll….

I Need Somebody To Love - Sylvester

Nu Guinea- Disco Sole

Todd Terje - Preben Goes To Acuapulco

Maribou State - Midas

Parallel Dance Ensemble - Shopping Cart

Khruangbin - Evan Finds The Third Room

Parcels - Gamesofluck

DARGS - Lou's Tune

Flofilz - Inside Out

Arlo Parks- Eugene

Szymon - Feenicks

Nilufer Yanya - Hey

Maribou State - Vale

Maribou State - Manila

Klyne - Water Flow