An online solo exhibition tracing resistance, identity, vulnerability, humor, faith, and the return to creative momentum.

My alias, Hess, comes from a play on the name 'Jess.' As a bilingual person who speaks both English and Spanish and who grew up in a mix of Colombian and U.S American cultures, being called "Hess" or "Hessica" by my family came naturally. (The "J" in Spanish is pronounced the way the English "H" is pronounced.)

I grew up hating my name, Jessica, so I clung onto the playful and unique nature of my nickname. It reminds me of who I am, the people I love, and that I don't need to be as boring or "basic" as the name I was given (sorry, mom).

I chose to show a mixture of old and new works to tell the story of the non-linear progression of my creative career. I hadn't always wanted to show my work to the public, and even less offer to sell it. This collection starts at the point where I began to pursue an art career shortly before being laid off from my full-time job. I had watched and listened to many videos and podcasts of artists taking a leap of faith and working tirelessly to make their dreams come true. I had felt so motivated to do what they did, but was fearful of leaving that job and venturing into the unknown. It's unfortunate, but my story didn't quite play out in the same way due to my own shortcomings, anxiety, and insecurities. It's important to me to be honest about this chaotic journey because I know someone out there will resonate with it and see that it's still worth it to feed the creative spirit regardless of external and internal resistance. I chose to push forward despite having many instances of almost giving up and shutting down.

Much of this resistance was self-inflicted. Surely, I came across many instances of rejection, but that hadn't dampened my spirit until my bank account began to count on approval. Imposter syndrome kicked into high gear and has since only calmed down a little bit. Instead of hyping myself up or turning to prayer, I convinced myself that I was mediocre at best and needed to accept my place in this world. Today, I counter these harsh thoughts by practicing and slowly tackling the skills in which I feel inadequate. Most importantly though, I chose to find the joy in creating again without the influence of making money.

Looking over my work chronologically, I can see how much I fought to embrace color and community. My more somber pieces, of which a few are included in this collection, are typically tied to very dark, personal situations. Color began to seep in when getting involved in community events. The encouragement I had received from these pieces as well as the joy I began to experience in the painting process made me realize that it wouldn't be so bad to stray a little from the shadows I was so accustomed to brooding in. Not to say that I don't still brood and enjoy making darker work. It just doesn't resonate as much as it used to, and that's a testament to choosing joy and community.

All of the varying themes in my work come from my inability to compartmentalize or shut off my racing thoughts. I gain inspiration from everything I do and experience, so I find it hard to focus on just one subject matter. It all comes down to which idea is the loudest or gets me the most excited.

I wouldn't quite say that I intentionally make most of my pieces with a deeper meaning. As someone who is very emotional and idealistic, it's rather difficult to not have a personal story tied to something I make. Even the silliest of pieces can be inspired by my fight with creative resistance.

Vulnerability is usually what starts the creative process for me. It's the choice I make to share a story or emotion. I often ask myself, "Is this something you really want the world to know?" And the answer is almost always going to be "YES."

Vulnerability also shows up in an unexpected way. To me, it's not just about emotions. It's also about showcasing my insecurities as an artist. I admit that I'm not the most technical artist, and that's okay. My educational background is art-focused, but is not strictly in studio art. I sometimes allow this "lack" of education to get to my head and make me believe that I'll never be as good as someone who went to Art School TM. I know that artists I believe to be miles beyond my abilities will see my work. It can be anxiety-inducing, but I choose to show the world what I have to offer anyway. It's incredibly gratifying to see how my style improves and evolves over time because I made the conscious effort to "catch up" on my skills. (Disclaimer: I still have much to learn, and I look forward to it.)

The clearest turning point to me would be "And It Was Good". I had created this piece shortly after being laid off and experiencing what I would best describe as a literal come-to-Jesus moment. It is obviously very different from anything else I had made, and that was the intent. Creating this piece forced me out of my comfort zone in many ways. I was experimenting with new materials, going through a whole journey with color choice and application, and forcing myself to focus on the art instead of the voices in my head that were yelling at me about my uncertain future. This piece serves as a reminder to me that everything God does for me is for my own good. It is difficult for me to look at this piece and not feel grateful. It's almost as if this piece was a prayer in and of itself. Moving forward from this point, I find it practically impossible to create anything without giving all of the glory to God. Nothing I have made after making this piece was made without my heart focused on Him. 

Having a deadline is the best way to get me to do anything that I've been putting off. Unfortunately, this applies to making art, or at least in this era of heavy resistance I've been stuck in. I sat on many ideas for this show for a while, but didn't feel confident in any of them. I would walk into my studio, stand there for a few minutes, feel my heart start to race, and tears start to well up. I knew that I had to do something, but I didn't want to make garbage work. It was incredibly difficult for me to even work up the courage to sketch. This show has served as a bootcamp of sorts for my creative practice. It's so cliche, but the saying, "The hardest part is starting," holds so much truth. I had to force myself to get to work, and I'm so glad that I did. This may sound crude, but it felt like the emotional equivalent of having a bowel movement after being constipated for far too long. Painful, but ultimately relieving.

My hope with sharing this part of me is to help others accept that their own flaws or shortcomings don't have to hold them back. My story may not have a complete resolution or be the most heartwarming, but it's a reality that I believe I share with many others. There's a quote that I've been coming across a lot lately on social media: "To be cringe is to be free." It's such an unserious quote, but I stand by it wholeheartedly. It's best to be honest with yourself and the world around you than to stay in denial and keep up a facade. I know that my vulnerability can be kind of "cringe" but I'd rather hold a mirror up to myself and honestly work on improving, and to do it in a semi-public way. It's not for attention, but rather to extend a hand to hold for anyone who wants or needs to hold it.

Something about this collection of work that I've sprinkled in some thoughts about already is how tied it is to my faith. I don't identify as an evangelist, just as someone who loves Jesus and really stands by the transformative love that comes with having a relationship with Him. I don't really go out of my way to talk about this too much, but it does come naturally when talking about my art because it would be deceitful not to. Nothing good that comes from my hands can be credited to me alone. And just like my art career, my faith has had its wavering moments. This is why I still choose to create and share darker pieces. I am still human and I still experience hardship and moments of fear and uncertainty. I choose to be honest about all of this and to talk about it without shame. Otherwise, what would be the point?