Hair is art. Art is hair.


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I’m an artist.  I’m a hairdresser.  I’m proud of it.

After himming and hawing back and forth for my so-far 10 year career, I can say confidently that artist and hairdresser are one and the same.

There was a time that I thought one was better than the other….or that one meant something different.  I thought that one was ok to do for a while.  Maybe it’s because I learned more about ‘art’ and ‘artists’ first or maybe because of the stereotypes that sometimes ring true.  Artists are deep, pensive, and thought provoking, right?  Hairstylists are blonde, dramatic, and self-absorbed, right??  Are these true anymore?  Absolutely not.

I’ve never really talked about my job on my blog…or rather, my career.  I suppose I’ve only written about art and ideas and inspiration for creative projects.  I never quite wanted to overlap what I do with who I am.  See…the funny thing about being a hair dresser, beautician, hair designer, cosmetologist, barber, service provider, wonder woman…is that, for me, it is more artistic and creative than sitting alone with a painting…THAT is what makes it so difficult and painful at times.  It is a constant collaboration with the public and it is intense and extremely gratifying.

I take care of people while I’m on the clock.  I am a care-taker.  It doesn’t end when I clock out, however.

With the evolution of my place in this industry, I want to strive for more artistic insanity.  I want to make beautiful, terrible, simple, extravagant, frightening images.  I want people to say ‘what the fuck?‘ or ‘that’s pretty funny.’  I’m at a point in my career where I’m ready for change and challenge.

I thought I needed to completely change careers.  Certain events have proven that it isn’t time for that to happen.  I think what I really want is to explore all the education that I can and absorb the amazingness of this industry.  I’m at a place where I can do that.  I work for a wonderfully supportive salon.

I can put bread on a girl’s head and it’s hairdressing and it’s art.   Boom, mothafuckas.

Simplify


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Ahh simplicity.  Why is it so daunting?  Why is there always clutter??

I just want all my material possessions to disappear.  I feel like I carry them around with me all day long, like I can feel their weight on my shoulders.

Why now?  Why do I care?  Why does it matter??

It’s always mattered…but much like other things in my life, I’ve neglected to honor that it matters to me.  I’ve been the one to put aside my needs and to just fucking ‘deal with it.’

The trouble with physical clutter is that it leads to mental clutter and chaos.  It leads to having blinders on to all your surroundings and floating through your space as if you don’t even belong there. 

I feel like a stranger in my home.  I feel like I haven’t been able to truly live how I want to and like to because I’m working around trying to not be that way. 

Well, here it is.  I’m a fucking minimalist.  I fucking love organization.  I’m a little obsessive about it.  I’m a fucking control freak.  I want to rid myself of all this extra baggage.

I find it unnecessary.  I admit, there was a time when I thought I needed more and more things, special things, things that were sentimental.  I realize…sentimental has made me mental. 

Please, come and take away my things!