Paid to Play

In 2021, mid-pandemic, I did this awesome tour in Seattle called Stalking Seattle.

It’s led by this very cool woman who actually lived the grunge days in the city. She takes you on an almost private tour (or at least it was during Covid) of the most important places in grunge history.

I was 18 when grunge broke out, and of course it defined my coming of age. Grunge was the voice of our generation.

So she takes us around the city. We go to Capitol Hill, where Singles was filmed. I mean—that soundtrack alone is worth its price in gold. We visit an alley in Belltown where bands like Mookie Blaylock—before they became Pearl Jam--used to rehearse. She takes us to see Kurt Cobain’s home (and infamous garage) in Lake Washington, and to the apartment building in University District where Layne Staley spent his unfortunate last years and days.
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Black Hole Sun, Volunteer Park

"Singles" The Coryell Court Apartments, Capitol Hill

Viretta Park, Lake Washington

Central Saloon, Pioneer Square

But the place that hit me the most was in Pioneer Square.

There’s this bar there. The Central Saloon. I’m sure I’ve walked past it a million times before—because it’s where some of my favorite art galleries are. I had no idea that so many of the music giants played some of their first gigs there.

And that’s where she told us about this concept called “pay to play.”

It was interesting.
And also kind of disturbing.

I believe it was also referenced in the original lyrics of Nirvana's "Stay Away".

Back then, bands literally had to pay venues for the chance to play their own music. To perform. To attract an audience.

I mean—can you imagine a world where Nirvana had to pay to play?
What wouldn’t I pay to have seen Nirvana live.

That idea still haunts me.
Because when you stretch it beyond the grunge days, it reveals something sadder;
A belief we as a society quietly absorbed.

​✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I’m not entirely sure why I was put on this earth.
In terms of a soul mission, that is.
I can see a few different trajectories.
​
But if there’s one thing—one thing—I would love to see change in this lifetime,
besides the way we treat animals,
it’s the starving artist mentality.
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Central Saloon, Seattle

​When I came to Montana, my husband’s walls were empty.
Someone casually suggested, “Why don’t you paint something?”
I had just reconnected with painting after a fifteen-year strike.

I had always been creative.
As a kid, I drew, sculpted, decorated classrooms—anything that let my vision move through my hands. Later, I turned dingy apartments into precious little gems.
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In university, I tried to minor in Fine Art, but it shut me down. It felt too bleh. Too disconnected from play.

I didn’t paint again for fifteen years.
Until I traveled for an entire year.
And something opened up again.

So I painted.
I hung the paintings on the walls.
I shared them online.
And then a friend wanted to buy one.
Suddenly, without trying to be anything, I was a professional artist.

And the first advice I received from two very well-meaning people, like clockwork, followed instantly:
“You can’t make a living from art.”
“So you want to be an artist? Cool—what are you willing to sacrifice?”
 
📓🍙🎧🖤🖱⛸🤍💭
 
My husband has one of the most fertile imaginations I’ve ever encountered.
He can turn the smallest pebble into an entire universe in seconds—from a spark to the funniest little string of words. He can actually build things as well.

In another life, he could have been an inventor.
A writer.
The next Charles M. Schulz.

But he’s an electrician.
​
Because someone has to pay the bills.
Yes—we need electricity.
But without artists, musicians, creators--
life becomes functional, efficient… and meh.

And that’s the lie we’ve been sold:
That art is optional.
That creativity is indulgent.
That the artist must pay to play.

Well, I have never been one to follow the masses
(you know why… Haha)

And because of that—I decided that I get paid to play.

​Because when you’re tuned, when you’re serving what you were actually designed to bring through, value follows.
​
I’m not here to starve for my creativity.
I’m here to be sustained because of it.