Someone complained recently that my books are too expensive.
Well, they are 344 and 408 pages, and 8.5x11 inches. They weigh between 4 and 5 pounds.
Full color, front to back, and filled mostly with sizable collections of my art.
Additionally, they are filled with deeply personal stories about my life, and the lives of some pretty amazing people mine has intersected with.
I don’t mess around in life. In art. Or in being transparent and real. Or in research. Or in creating. In anything, really.
I split myself open in order to grow personally, to act as a guardian, or a guide, or a mirror.
On a good day, my books are a kind of a muse for any person on a mission to live a better life.
Ya know, the kind of life in which you live, feel, and heal all the sh*t that’s holding you back.
Sorry for my potty mouth. Just keeping it real. I swear in my books occasionally, too.
On a practical note, these babies are mothertrucking expensive to print. Like, whopping.
I suppose I could just make puny little books; black and white pages filled with just words because that is cheapest to print.
I could produce books that are sparse on the art + life + soul divulging side of things.
That’s not how I roll. 🤷♀️ How I roll is knowing that by opening myself, I provide a space for others to find the parts of themselves they’ve pushed down or left behind.
How I roll is complete and utter devotion to the causes I believe in. Humanity. Healing. Creating. Being a benevolent force of balanced good.
How I roll is following my visions wildly, pursuing what is true for me, and offering my full self in return for anyone who is interested in cracking open one of my books ... I get it that if you are expecting a ‘normal’ book with words on pages, these books may seem expensive.
But. My books are anything but normal. All things considered, $45 and $55 seem a fair enough price.