Saint Paul Art Crawl happens twice a year and it’s a huge event. People are everywhere in Lowertown, hitting every gallery they can until their feet wear out. Usually the artists are eager to sell but are also very busy.
But one art crawl was unusual. Almost every studio I went to had a woman present and ready to give advice, empathy, and to remind me that the creative path is a healing path. The one that had jealous boyfriend problems. The one that told me that people were always going to try to get me to stop being creative and start fitting the mold cut for women. The one that told me that I needed to cultivate my naughtiness as “that’s what will keep you well.” Visual artists I’d never meant were reminding me to take all of it – all the pain, the drama, the tumult I was going through – and write it down, that in the process of creating the art I also healed myself.
It was like my gallery crawl turned into a shamanic walk. It was amazing.
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