closing some doors, hoping to open more down the line*
news from the studio of hope amico 12.6.23
Oh hi. I’ve been sorting some personal business and planning for 2024. You can read about some of that below or you can skip to the end for my holiday gift guide and a bit about why I am back on this platform.
I sold my camping trailer.
At the end of summer 2019, I was bubbling over with enthusiastic plans. I had driven my little Ford Ranger from New Orleans to St. Louis to Kentucky to Nashville to Georgia to Florida and back home, camping for days between visits to my family. I swam in a waterfall and cold springs and a warm lake. I slept in the covered truck bed, kept ice in a cooler to store my food and used a tiny rechargeable fan to ward off mosquitos at night.
The energizing three week trip rolled together family visits, a zine fest and vacation. I returned to New Orleans in the worst month1 with the solution to my puzzle of Stay or Go: I would buy a camping trailer and do both. New Orleans could be home, with my studio and my press, and I could travel and visit and swim and teach in different places without abandoning my favorite city and the people I love.
…the solution to my puzzle of Stay or Go: I would buy a camping trailer and do both
It felt like I had unlocked the key to all I wanted.
I bought a 1964 Shasta and before I could learn how to drive with it, circumstances changed almost faster than I could keep up. I fell in love, decided to relocate west and made plans to travel along the west coast. I booked classes in Olympia and San Francisco for the spring. In March 2020, still optimistic that I could travel while building a new home, I hauled the camper to Portland. I parked it in my new driveway, envisioning camping trips and coastal adventures. My out-of-town classes were cancelled and my teaching income dried up. I settled into my new home and focused on my new family. As we chose camping in tents or cabins for family vacations, the camper was assigned a new duty: personal space. It became my creative refuge space during the early days of the pandemic, before I could rent a studio. I began teaching online from my kitchenette desk. It was a room for calm and quiet when I had daily headaches after my concussion. It was a space to work at night when the others in my house were sleeping. It felt safe, sturdy, constant.
It became my creative refuge space during the early days of the pandemic, before I could rent a studio.
Every summer I planned to gut it and rebuild it to adapt to new needs. Every summer my plans shifted and the camper waited. I wrote lists and plans and watched videos about how to restore it. Every fall, as the rains came, I hung a blanket over the door and settled in.
I waited for a time when I could take it on the road.
When I think about my ambitious plans in 2019, I think of the overlooked details. How I lacked the support to teach outside of New Orleans; the few out-of-town classes I scheduled in 2019 were canceled due to lack of interest. I had no savings. Our landlord in New Orleans was selling our house. The camper was not ready for full time living and I could not afford another apartment. I romanticize the dream I gave up, blaming my west coast move and the pandemic and my concussion, but that path was never certain. I have been reacting to changes in a plan that may have been faulty. I thought I was trying to work back towards that plan but maybe going forward will be a different plan.
I thought I was trying to work back towards that plan but maybe going forward will be a different plan.
In September of this year, I moved my studio again, my third in Portland. I began to make space for a different path. The past four years have been a gamble and then reacting to uncontrollable circumstances. Everything is a gamble and I know I am resilient but part of adapting is shedding what is not longer working. It is time to shed old dreams. I still struggle with the want to travel and the want to settle in, the pull of Stay and Go. I do not have an answer for now, but I know now the camper is no longer the vehicle for that dream.
Selling it, in my gut, feels like giving up. When the new owner towed it away I cried. I cried for things that could've been and I cried for a literal weight leaving. What's next? I make steps to get myself in order, to be ready for whatever it is.
little things to help you through
things are hard AND there is joy. both things can be true.
a holiday gift guide with many thoughtful, affordable bits of sweetness
a culture reporter turned war reporter in Gaza sharing what she experiences so the world can know what is happening to the Palestinian people
Gift subscriptions to the Keep Writing project are ON SALE through December 15th!
Sign up a friend or loved on and I will send them a monthly postcard and prompt for a year!
On sale for $65 for domestic mailing, it does not auto-renew next year, but does includes a card with a personal message from you and a sticker, all mailed by December 18th.
I also have gift cards in the store, which can be used for classes, zines or collage prints!
locals only!a little something for the PNW folks:
Paisley Studios is hosting an open house!
Come see the lovely light-filled space and home to many of my collage classes, including another round of Studio Practice classes in January
Saturday December 10
noon-5 pm
with special showing of student art at 2pm
707 NE Broadway upstairs
collage classes in January!
“Is This Art?” collage workshop is coming online in January! Starting 1/20, join me for 6 weeks of collage . Early bird registration is now open, at a discount, until 1/1.
In Portland, you can join me at Paisley Studios for 4 weeks of Studio Practice starting 1/9 . We will meet Tuesday mornings for dedicated studio time with a weekly prompt and a supportive community! $120
housekeeping
You may notice I am back on substack. And there are paywalls again. Why paid posts? First, paid subscribers mean I can do less of this, a lifelong goal. Also, it helps get the news to folks who want it. It is an imperfect system, but we are working within the constraints of capitalism.
Do you want to read all the rambling posts but can’t afford a paid subscription or don’t want to support substack? Email me and I will give a free subscription. Ok?
I also accept tips.
I moved back to substack despite its many flaws because I missed the community here—the queer and trans artists and writers who share amazing work and news and use this platform in the best way. My reason for this newsletter and weekly posts is to share my writing with a wide audience and I was not connecting with new folks on ghost. I am relying less on instagram and this is currently my best way to reach you. I appreciate everyone who shared input and experiences, especially Jay Thompson (follow them! they share seven great things, are thoughtful and smart!
Whew. You made it this far. Thank you. Thank you for reading and writing to me and telling me what you think. I love it. I have been a very slow responder to emails and mail lately but I appreciate you all, truly.
take care,
Hope
*ok substack, no footnotes in headings, fine. I borrowed this title from this song . long -time followers may notice this is a rare instance of lifting text from someone other than john darnielle. growth y’all
September. I dare you to challenge this. Have you been on the gulf coast in September? It is somehow still sweltering, stifling and yet there is a dutiful sense of Back To School-ness that discourages naps and lounging. Plus hurricanes.