Foreign & Domestic: the unique, yet universal experience of being the outsider on the inside
Have you ever ridden on an old-school mary-go-round? The one I can remember from my early 90s childhood was made entirely out of metal on our elementary playground. It would turn into a human egg beater in the summer sun. My fastest running friend would hold on to one of the bars, run like a chicken being chased by a coyote, and at the last minute would practically yank their arm out of the socket slinging themselves on for the ride. Before you knew it, spinning so fast would induce the worst you-are-certain-you're-going-to-vomit feeling. When the thing finally slowed down and stopped, you were so dizzy that you stumbled off and fell out in the nearby grass to let your brain recover from temporary self-inflicted vertigo. This is a lot like what moving home to a country community to become a school bookkeeper is like after living in the city for seven years working as an artist. I wish I could say that I floated in like a feather, but it couldn’t be further from the case. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe it.
ARTIST STATEMENT:
All I’ve ever wanted to do is be a creative and make pretty things. I’ve had a few different Etsy shops, made and sold beaded jewelry, sewn and stitched, cut and glued, decoupaged, refinished, and paper machéd my way through life. As a creative person, I found my true self in Austin in many ways. The people there reminded me of the theater kids I hung out with during my sophomore year in college. These kids were so sure of themselves and what they wanted to do with their life. In hindsight some of them were emo kids– dudes with black painted nails and smeared eyeliner, tattoos at the age of 19, numerous piercings, and a general “life is so beautiful, yet so deep” kind of perspective. They all lived under the same roof, not at all mind sharing a bedroom with 3 other people in a shitty rented house that 15 other liberal arts majors also called home. Collected. Melded. Gritty. Grungy. This is what Austin is to me, and the side of town that I fell in love with– the edgy part that was a little rough.
Somehow in a sprawling city where so many are trying to make it, I did in a way. In my seven years there, I low-key became well-known in certain circles, able to support myself and my daughter on an artist’s income. Rarely heard of. Something that people from home could not wrap their heads around. And I knew very few artists in Austin that were “full-time”. In some ways, I was like the gritty, grungy liberal arts kids, just happy I was able to do my thing and get paid for it. Living the dream, even if it was in the rough, edgy part of town.
That’s why about a year ago when I decided to move myself and my daughter back home to the tiny town in Arkansas that I grew up in, everyone lost their goddamn mind. People in Austin couldn’t believe it. People back home couldn’t believe it. But, despite all reason, going only on a feeling I had in my gut that said, "you've gotta go home,” I packed up a Uhaul with all of the things from our tiny 600-square-foot apartment in 78758, drove 500 miles, and landed smack dab right in the middle of nowhere where I started. A lucky fucking duck. (major eye roll)
Four days later (honestly exhausted, devastated, hopeful, and totally jaded) I reported for the first day of my new job as a school secretary at the same elementary school that I attended. The same school where my mom taught for over 30 years. Talk about coming full circle. Quite frankly, I grew up in the halls where I now roam as a school employee. Blows my ever-loving mind.
If you’re a person like me, you don’t just experience life, you marinade in it. I’ve always been a slow processor in times like these. In this epic transition, within just a few short months, I quickly realized that I was both foreign and domestic.
My style wasn’t like those I was around daily. My silver boots were too Austin, my nearly make-up-less face was too naked, and my black, bold glasses were almost too artsy. My speech required a twang (once lost, but quickly found), “bless your heart” and similar phrases had to be reintroduced to my vocabulary, and I needed to learn how to smile a lot more.
The first few months were rough. I didn’t know how to act, what to say, or even how to present myself. Gosh, I wanted everyone to like me. I still do.
With any life transition, there seems to be a magic gap: That time right after the merry-go-round slings you off. While you're lying in the grass. Waiting for your ears to stop ringing. Getting your feet on the floor. Learning a new culture. Finding your place in the pack.
And you spend time in the magic gap choreographing a new dance. A new dance for a new life. The goal is to find the Goldilocks zone, the perfect balance of everything you want this new life to be, paired with everything it actually is, combined with all the magical flourishes of you. It’s literally the best feeling ever when you realize you’ve reached this sweet spot.
And in this Goldilocks zone, I slowly began to build a new life that I love. My fiance moved from Texas, and we bought a 70s split level house down the same road where my best friend lived in high school. My family knows all 3 families that have owned it before us. Becky, a high school friend’s mother, lives next door. I regularly run into my favorite teacher from that time in my life at the only Mexican food restaurant in town. God, it’s so good to be surrounded by people you’ve known your whole life.
Now, everyday in my role at school, I get to love on teachers, students, and support staff post-Covid. Lord knows they need all the extra love and care that I’m happy to give. I’ve sorted and organized and helped breathe life back into the building that I love, but in my own way, the Whitney way. I’ve decorated as many nooks and crannies as they’ve let me, making rainbows and pencils out of pool noodles scattered in the halls that raised me. This has been an epic homecoming.
In recent months, I have reconnected with good old friends, made so many new ones, and accidentally have run into some enemies. Hey, it comes with the territory.
And in all of the magic of the last year, I’ve realized that no one sees you as you do in the mirror every morning. Your opinion of yourself only belongs to you. No one is informed as you are, yet we all share similar stories of love and loss, trials and triumphs, rocks in the middle of the road, and times when we’ve climbed to reach mountain tops. This makes it so lucky and beautiful to be alive. Okay. I know. Emo kid vibes.
Life is an incredible thing. I swore up and down that I would never move back home, yet I’m typing this just 4 miles from where I grew up. Funny how these kinds of things work out.
This is what it’s like to feel Foreign & Domestic.
ABOUT THE WORK:
In July 2021, I released a series of fifteen mixed media paintings titled, Farm Mama. In many ways this selection of paintings and collages is an extension of that collection.
This series is a collection of eight collages on paper and six mixed-media paintings. Hues memic collegiate colors, mint chocolate chip ice cream, dusty dirt roads, busy city lights, sunrises and sunsets, pink fluff, angel food cake, and denim.
The collages feature images from mid-century LIFE magazines, which are swimming with ads for innovative kitchen appliances, new shiny cars, and the most en-vogue women’s fashions. Apparently, everyone smoked cigarettes and drank copious amounts of gin and vodka, good ol’ American vices. Notable imagery includes numerous photos of Queen Elizabeth of England, a split-level home, a lion, yellow cars, a Scotty dog, and a few desert cacti, all symbolism meaningful to me.
The mixed media paintings feature college-aged school girls and fashion-forward vogue women echoed in the collages. Bold lips, reserved grins, contented smiles, and happy-go-lucky attitudes emit feelings we experience when going with the flow. When I packed up my studio last August, I honestly didn’t know if there would be a time I would want to pick up my brushes again. Instead of painting, I spent the fall and winter months learning the crochet blanket stitch, making 2 queen-sized blankets before Christmas, while watching cable television every night after work with my parents. The crosshatching of the blanket stitch is the inspiration for the background patterns in these works. Flashy sequins juxtapose the crosshatching blanket stitch background, reflecting and encompassing the feelings of being both foreign and domestic.
Collectively, this series conceptually encapsulates the unique and universal experience of being the outsider on the inside, exploring familiar territory as if it is new, and the gut instinct to follow joy, wherever it leads you.
