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Buried Blue Transgressions (available)
12 x 12 inches (30 × 30 cm)
Acrylic on Board, 2025
MN-031
The sun rises. The leaves fall. The rain floods. The mountains slide.
The sins of our ancestors are buried under layers of gravel.
Spring renews. Life finds its way.
We move on.
We move forward.
We chase the sunrise.
We relish the night.
When I was in 5th or 6th grade, I got a report from the dentist that included my first cavity. I was crushed. The good boy I was admonished to be by my mother, Sunday school, and Jesus was terrified.
Belonging was the hardest marker of safety for me to find in childhood. Being put out of the school group, the community, the family was my biggest fear.
On any good day, I was barely accepted and included in the group.
That cavity was a death sentence. I broke one of the only social contracts I could actually understand with my neurodivergent, socially blind, young brain.
I spent an hour brushing my teeth that night with the hope of undoing the damage I had caused.
My logic knew from experience in school, church, and home that rules are hidden and mysterious, and the consequences severe. Keeping my teeth clean was one of the few things I thought was in my control.
I broke a social contract. I knew I had broken a social contract, unlike the dozens of other social contracts I broke at school every day, and I didn’t know; I only felt the impact. This one, I thought I could fix with violent and relentless brushing.
I failed. I still had the cavity. I punished myself, nonetheless.
I got a filling for the cavity. The first of many in the young-to-teenage years.
It turns out I was ok. Getting a cavity didn’t actually get me kicked out of the tribe that I needed for basic safety.
Lots of other things did, however. F*ck me if I ever actually knew what I did to get rejected.
I’ve given up on trying to rewrite my history.
I’ve given up on knowing “why” it was so hard to grow up.
I’ve given up on finding the perfect algorithm of detection and behavior to “pass” as neurotypical and socially adept.
Take me as I am. Accommodate me. Make requests and agreements to get your needs met. Look me in the eye and tell me how you feel and the impact I have.
Don’t make me guess what you expect me to do.
I’m exhausted.
12 x 12 inches (30 × 30 cm)
Acrylic on Board, 2025
MN-031
The sun rises. The leaves fall. The rain floods. The mountains slide.
The sins of our ancestors are buried under layers of gravel.
Spring renews. Life finds its way.
We move on.
We move forward.
We chase the sunrise.
We relish the night.
When I was in 5th or 6th grade, I got a report from the dentist that included my first cavity. I was crushed. The good boy I was admonished to be by my mother, Sunday school, and Jesus was terrified.
Belonging was the hardest marker of safety for me to find in childhood. Being put out of the school group, the community, the family was my biggest fear.
On any good day, I was barely accepted and included in the group.
That cavity was a death sentence. I broke one of the only social contracts I could actually understand with my neurodivergent, socially blind, young brain.
I spent an hour brushing my teeth that night with the hope of undoing the damage I had caused.
My logic knew from experience in school, church, and home that rules are hidden and mysterious, and the consequences severe. Keeping my teeth clean was one of the few things I thought was in my control.
I broke a social contract. I knew I had broken a social contract, unlike the dozens of other social contracts I broke at school every day, and I didn’t know; I only felt the impact. This one, I thought I could fix with violent and relentless brushing.
I failed. I still had the cavity. I punished myself, nonetheless.
I got a filling for the cavity. The first of many in the young-to-teenage years.
It turns out I was ok. Getting a cavity didn’t actually get me kicked out of the tribe that I needed for basic safety.
Lots of other things did, however. F*ck me if I ever actually knew what I did to get rejected.
I’ve given up on trying to rewrite my history.
I’ve given up on knowing “why” it was so hard to grow up.
I’ve given up on finding the perfect algorithm of detection and behavior to “pass” as neurotypical and socially adept.
Take me as I am. Accommodate me. Make requests and agreements to get your needs met. Look me in the eye and tell me how you feel and the impact I have.
Don’t make me guess what you expect me to do.
I’m exhausted.