Squeaky Wheel
2025
Ink on Vellum
8.5”x11”

“A squeaky wheel. An ankle biter. A public nuisance, on a carceral level. It’s a matter of facts, unchanging, I’m embarrassed every year: “This year I’ll be normal.” It’s a check I can’t cash”

From My Instagram Caption: documentation of a piece i made while at my artist residency at @gmartcolony. if you see something transparent or sparkly you want to get rid of, please send it my way. i’ve been using up every transparent surface i can. all i can think about right now is light and color and shape. everything is a stained glass window. thank god for enlightenment and polystyrene!

Ok here are my actual thoughts on this piece:

I was the last joke of the millennium, born April 1st, 1999, in the middle of the day during Aries season. A hard head makes for a soft behind, a squeaky wheel gets oiled, a closed mouth doesn’t get fed, oh my god, what a bitch. The difference between a ram and a sheep is the horns. I want to be likable, I want to have friends, I want to feel love, but I care so much about what’s right. At least, what I think is right. Coming from the land of hard heads, I noticed my Texan charm could be abrasive in the midst of Minnesota’s plea for politeness. A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.
Do I seem desperate? Pushy? Too much? Even back home I lamented not being “chill.” Intense, intimidating, mean mugging by accident in every photo. People guess that I’m a Scorpio. “I’m an Aries! Yeah, just an angry cry baby.” I laugh it off. Angry Cry Baby – a smoke signal – “please help me, don’t get too close.” Fearful Avoidant. Or maybe Autism. Or maybe I’m just like my parents, and maybe they’re just like their parents. And maybe I’m too much for the world. And maybe I’m too much for art. And maybe, I’m just too much.
Constantly flipping back and forth between self advocacy and self criticism. This Year I’ll be Normal.