I am an artist who lives in a little brick house at the bottom of a lush foothill called Green Mountain. Nothing can be built above my neighborhood. It’s too steep. So, we live in a forest. I take my bike 300 yards to the left and I hit a pasture of friendly cows who graze next to a creek that an ancient railroad runs over. I make frequent trips around Alabama with my young family. We camp near creeks. We bike to abandoned asylums. We know the highest dunes between here and Florida. I was born in Alabama. I went to school in Auburn. I now live in Huntsville. I avoid Birmingham like the plague especially during rush hour.
Down the road from me a little ways is an old shoe factory called Lowe Mill. They gutted it and turned it into studio spaces for hundreds of artists. I had my first art show there last summer. I became an artist and feminist writer in Austin. The first place I set up my typewriter was in monthly moon markets that the eclectic witches of the drag put on. Strangers walked past my little booth. They’d tell me their stories and I’d write them a poem. They’d leave little stones on my typewriter for protection or love. When the pandemic hit, I started doing that on Instagram. It’s amazing what people want to tell someone, anyone. I let them tell me.
What I found is that everyone has a story they need to offload.
Here is the plan so far: we create Tap Tap Tintype as a place to share art practices. We offer each other encouragement, inspiration, and logistical tips. We lend a hand where we can. We find a way to crowdfund essential childcare. We share our artist blocks and little tragedies that get in the way of the practice. Grace, no doubt, will have a lot to say about this logistically. I’m here as your visionary. Here is where we are going. The logistics of getting there will be less overwhelming if we are not alone.
Part of this blog will be devoted to the artists inspiring us. When we travel to markets or to take pictures of beautiful places, we will write about the artists in those communities. Mothers are not the only artists who need a village. People underestimate community. We know it will take us deeper.