I thought I would write to you all this week about my plans for the upcoming Creative Pinellas Exhibition. I had a fruitful visit to Creative Pinellas’ Gallery this week and plans are in the works, but I am finding that what I want to say and what I need to say are diverging.
So here it goes. This is a love letter to the artist with chronic illness. This is a love letter to those who work everyday to be a part of this world. This is a love letter to the ones who can’t get out of bed, who use pill boxes morning and night, who have more doctors than pairs of shoes, who fall down and get back up, who ask for help. You are resilient, but you don’t always have to be strong. You are brave, but your bravery shouldn’t be predicated on having to demand a world that includes you.
This is a love letter to the artist who makes their reality a part of their work and to the artist who wants to keep their reality separate from their work. This is a love letter to women. To trans and nonbinary folks. To BIPOC folks. To queer folks. This is a love letter to the artists who suffer loudly and to the ones who suffer in silence. This is a love letter to artists in pain. This is a love letter to myself.
I am learning how to let my illnesses be a part of who I am without defining me. I am learning to communicate my needs without feeling like admitting that I have needs makes me a failure. I am learning how to let myself dream big.
We are beautiful. We are here.
This is a love letter to the artist who is healing. To the artist who is building new pathways and has the courage to change their life. This is a love letter to the artist who is stuck. Who feels like the walls are crumbling around them and their body is giving out. We are here for you. We love you.
This is a love letter to chronic conditions. This is a love letter to disability.
