It's a weird thing asking for help. We feel shamed by it, as if a sign of weakness or an admission of failure. But after watching Amanda Palmer's Ted Talk
a few years ago, I started re-examining the concept of "help." In 2015, I set the resolution of asking people for more things—this came in the form of asking fellow artist to work with me (Matt Woods
with Grim Love
; Alex Newby with Indian Relay
; many, many others with I'M FUCK*D
; coordinating a tour with Tom Hymn
and then another with Raf Deza
), asking countless journals and magazines to publish my shit, asking editors to tear my work apart (doesn't feel good), asking people to spend time with me, go on walks, visit national parks. Everything proved rewarding.
I've always been leary of Kickstarter projects. They seem Millennial. They seem privileged. But, in truth, they are just the continuation and evolution of the artists' plea: through residencies, through fellowships, through grants, through state and nationally funded programs. What has changed, with technology of course, is accessibility: asking is no longer a strictly top down system but also bottom up. Crowd sourcing.
This is to say: I not only see this current project as a continuation of artistic legacy, but a continuation of my experimentation with writing and traveling. It's all a shared experience. And art should be shared. Exploration should be shared. Through collaboration we break open the possibilities of conversation. Art becomes a continued dialogue in this way, not an unbearable soliloquy. This, therefore, is an invitation to join this journey, whether through donation, through sharing our project via social media, or simply by becoming aware of it. No pressure. No expectations. Just love and loss and restoration and cigarettes at campsites and margaritas at favorite bars and friends that tell stories with you, whether at campsites, or bars, or with cameras.
Once again, our Kickstarter page