Married to Art

I knew from my childhood that my life would be extraordinary. I didn’t know how, but I felt it in my bones, like a secret written in the stars.

I’ve never dreamed of a traditional marriage — not the kind built on contracts, expectations, or cages. My vows were spoken long ago, but not to a person. I married Art.

Art has been my most faithful companion, my fiercest lover, and my eternal muse. It never abandoned me when people did. It stayed through wars, illness, heartbreak, betrayal, and darkness. When the world told me to shrink, Art told me to expand.

I don’t need a ring on my finger to feel whole. My ring is the ink on paper, the stage lights on my skin, the music in my veins, the colors that stain my hands. My marriage doesn’t need witnesses or blessings — it’s sealed every day I create, every time I pour myself into words, performance, music, or paint.

Being married to Art isn’t always easy. It demands everything. Sleepless nights. Broken pieces of my soul. Vulnerability so raw it feels like being flayed alive. But in return, it gives me freedom. It gives me wings when the world wants me on my knees.

Some people want safety. I want fire.
Some people want tradition. I want creation.
Some people want forever promises. I want eternal inspiration.

I don’t worship gods. I worship the act of creation.
I don’t build cages. I build worlds.

So yes, I’m married. To Art. To Love. To Freedom.
And it’s the most sacred bond of my life.

continue