For two years in a row I applied to the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park Artist-in-Residence program. This application was a material step in actualizing a dream I’ve had since I first read about the residency in the Pick & Axe at my grandmother’s apartment years ago. Turns out, a residency that places one in a remote cabin alone with no electricity or food for two or three weeks is quite competitive. I would look into the chosen artists and see that most had MFA’s and professional looking websites. While I am comfortable with getting an MFA to remain in the realm of pure fantasy, building a website seemed more attainable and a recommended next step for me to take as an artist. (still feels weird saying that. a topic for another post. or my journal. or therapy.)

Developing my own website became one of those persistent to-do’s after my last exercise of residency applications that appeared doomed to never materialize. I allowed myself to let go of the ambition as to not let it’s apparent failure demoralize me (similar acts of mercy have been dealt to my idea for a novel, etc.). That is until, through a series of serendipitous social introductions, I met Brendan, and I accepted that — although I have taken on many mediums with the beginner’s mind of the Fool — I wasn’t too keen to learn web design from scratch, especially when I could support a fellow creative and professional website developer. I still think about the novel and, who knows, maybe sometime I will write it, but as much as it takes will to actualize something, there is also a need for faith that “the universe is unfolding as it should.”

As such, applying to residencies hasn’t been on the to-do list for some time. As several people have assured me, I can find a cabin without running water anytime if I want to live out the romantic notions that started festering inside of me when I first learned about the residency in the Porkies. Indeed, I may already risk turning off panelists reviewing this website as part of any future MFA/residency application with my design choices alone. But, if there is one thing I learned from reviewing the websites of everyone who got the residencies I applied for, it is just how damn boring and pervasive minimalism is for artists’ websites. How dare you all submit to conformity! I spit on it!

I write all of this aware of a key commonality of anyone who has won one of these residencies in far-flung and sparsely amenitized places that I have applied to these past few years: talent. Specifically, the websites of these winners showcase a point of view and style that comes with years of dedication to a craft. I started painting in earnest during the beginning of the pandemic, at 34-years-old. Perhaps I dragged my heels on starting a website because of a lingering imposter syndrome that I often do not feel and other times push through to keep going. Anyone who puts themselves out there — in art, love, or taking a stand on anything — knows that rejection and the fear of it can stagnate movement towards our passions and visions. Those who succumb to it do not give themselves the chance to grow and achieve. Also, WHO CARES? “Who am I but my own critic?” And why should this critic keep my work in isolation, unless it is, of course, in some self-imposed Walden Pond situation that I would hope to get at least a few paintings out of the trouble to share with you all.

This website is a chronicling of my process/progress, in one location. Take from it what you will. Now, on to the next project!