Life Story

November 21, 2010 at 2:31pm

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.

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