I am so lucky, but this is fucking hard.

On making art when no one asked you.

Hi dear ones,

All of humanity feels disregarded at the moment. Last weekend, I did the thing no one likes to do but everyone feels bummed if they don’t - I threw myself a birthday party.

Over the years, after crying on too many birthdays, I’ve learned that if I don’t pre-plan something, some way of gathering the people I love, I end up disappointed. I start doubting whether I even want to exist in the world. That’s a feeling I like to avoid even more than I dislike planning things.

A black bow - both celebration and mourning.

Back in January, I reached out to Sydney at And Friends to see if she’d be open to letting me show my papier-mâché work at her new-ish gallery space in Santa Cruz. I’m telling you this for a few reasons:

1. I think a lot of people assume you have to wait to be invited to show your work. I don’t believe that’s always true. Sometimes, when you ask someone, they actually consider it—and say yes. I know it’s a counterintuitive idea, but I encourage you to be brave.

2. I knew I needed something around my birthday to look forward to. So I asked if I could do a show with papier-mâché—something I love but rarely do. It takes forever, always looks a little like a child made it, and people generally aren’t willing to pay for it. So, if your goal is to make payroll, it can feel like a waste of time.

But if your goal is to feel full, alive, and present—to feel goo on your hands that ends up on your hardwood floor, your face, and in your hair—this might be your thing. If you want to make objects that your five-year-old is dying to dropkick, this is where it’s at.

For the first time in my life, I let myself just make things. I didn’t overthink what I was creating—I let my body lead. And then, afterward, I started to understand the secret messages my mind had been trying to send me—messages I hadn’t practiced listening for.

So here goes. This is what I’m thinking about, that I didn’t know I needed to hear:

• I’m looking for signs. Little confirmations that I’m making the right choices. I feel so out of control and uncertain lately, and the idea that the universe might offer affirmation is deeply comforting.

  

  The strawberries are a mama and baby, and the sun, moon and star are a family portrait. The mushroom is a nightlight.

• I’m touch-starved. One of the many irrational reasons I long for a second child is that I crave touch and attention. My partner and I have different touch needs: for him, it can feel overstimulating, like he’s itchy or trapped. For me, touch is a balm. It calms me, regulates me. I need it to feel safe and connected.

• I don’t know where Margaret ends and I begin. I was reading an interview with Donna Wilson recently, and she was asked whether her kids influence her work. She said no. I would say YES. I wanted to add Margaret’s name to the wall but settled on including one of her drawings instead. But would I be painting strawberries and cats if she didn’t love them? Before I installed the show, I asked if she wanted to keep anything, and she said, “EVERYTHING.” And in that moment, my life felt so complete.

  

  The eyes are looking after you, the couple embracing is telling me that I want more touch, the spider is making its home.

• I want there to be someone looking out for me—and for you. Some benevolent, omnipresent being who has our backs. But what shape would that presence take? For me, it was eyes. Eyes everywhere. In the pots in your front yard, in the vases in your house—vessels existing to support you and bring joy.

I remember reading that art is the thing no one asked you to make. And I love that idea. I should also say—art is whatever you want it to be. It’s the thing you’ve been yearning for, even if you don’t yet have words or reasons for it. This statement gives you permission to just do it. Without anyone asking and often I find myself needing this sentiment to get started.

At the opening, I asked each guest to share something hard they were carrying and one reason they felt lucky. I wrote their answers on Post-its, which they could place next to a piece they felt connected to. The invitation was to claim the work as their own, and to hold the duality of life. To remember how not alone we all are in this complicated moment.

WRITE BELOW SOMETHING HARD AND SOMETHING LUCKY if you dare…

The first post-it

I hope this gives you permission to start that thing that you have been wanting to do, to ask someone for the space that you need, to feel like you don’t have to know the meaning of something for it to be meaningful.

If you need one of these original paintings for your home, you can buy them here.

XO, Carissa

PS This show was made possible by the generosity of Sydney at And Friends. My father for being my assistant and companion while listening to Joni Mitchell. For Josh - making a lamp structure and watching M while I wasted time making stupid things. For Kate Pruitt, without whom I would never be making weird paper things. For Leah Martha Rosenberg, who taught me about color. For Amanda Krampf, who pleasure stacks. For my mom’s dream of being an artist, and my luck of getting to live out her dream in my lifetime. For Margaret, my life collaborator. I felt the moment you were inside of me a generative force of creativity and strength that keeps my tank full of reason to keep going.

PPS We made a towel - with the concepts from the show. You can buy it here. We have 20.

Chosen family.

painting the day of the opening

cat snuggle