My mother said she was laughing as I ripped through her in the back of a Mercedes Benz.
My grandmother ran red lights in the middle of the night on a rural South Florida road.
I was named after her mother, my great-grandmother, Lula Mae Quinn, who died shortly before I was born.
I grew up pelting citrus fruit at my little brother and feeling the sting of lemon juice in scraped up legs.
I danced ballet.
I recited monologues in drama class and cried real tears.
I have always loved drama.
When I was 12, my family and I moved to Denver.
I saw snow for the first time…it was devastating.
In high school, I survived in the theater department.
In college I learned about the desert, anarchy, food and Mexico.
I graduated with a sociology degree and a wanderlusty heart.
I ended up at farms on the southeast, surf towns in New Zealand, sweaty hostels in Barcelona.
San Francisco reminded me that I wanted to be a performance artist, although I didn’t have the word for it at the time.
I met real live performance artists. I made real live performance art. I became hooked.
Of late, I move in and out of the city. Leaving for stints to make art and/or money in the mountains of Colorado, in Berlin, in Mexico. And I come back into the arms of the Mission and my friends.
- This is an image I google that is reminiscent of my childhood home.
