top of page
  • Writer's pictureDiana

The Side-eye Shuffle

(The illustration is of a photograph-turned-meme on the interwebs. I do not own it, cute little bum no?)

I’m screaming out into the void

But before I really really get into it

My dearest most darling muse,

Let me just tell you now.

I am going to be affected by your responses or lack thereof if you’re part of my art in any capacity.

I’m not holding you accountable for how you feel about what I make or how you choose to respond, if at all; free will baybayyy!

If you don’t like it, you don’t like it.

It’s fine.

It will definitely be a knife in my fucking chest (especially if I’m the one who invited you in) but it’s FINE.

It’s not your responsibility

It is mine.

My point is

I will be sensitive.

I will be emotional all of the time.


From the very moment I decide I want to include you (this is even before I summon the courage to ask for your permission).

It doesn’t mean I am in love-love lol (wouldn’t that be cute though) it just means something about you stuck with me in the best way possible.

I will be just like that limb that cramps up and turns numb and the moment you move it or touch it, it feels like there’s a livewire where your limb should be.

I’ll tell you why.

Because it is personal.

All of it is always personal to me.

Even if you and I barely know each other.

I am not ever detached from my art.

That’s a humongous part of my process.

I don’t have thick skin because it’s a little different for me.

It goes:

Rice Paper thin layer of skin,


a sensitive nerve,

Rice paper thin layer of skin,


a sensitive nerve,

Rice paper fucking thin layer of skin,

some more fucking art

and then

a huge fucking sensitive nerve

and then my bones.


So ya.

I enjoy it immensely.

I am also an open wound the whole time.

I just wanted you to know that when I tell you I’m nervous or relieved or I ask for approval, it is not an act

It is the truthiest truth.

And while I adore you for saying yes I’m still fucking scared because it ain’t over till the fat lady sings

She sings once you’ve said how you feel and I’ve put it out into the interwebs and it’s not just our little secret anymore.

But ya, I just wanted you to know that this is how it goes.


All of that

It also means, people who come around to be shady or mean (and they do come around, rarely, but they do and you can trust that they stick out to me like a sore thumb, I could pick them out of a lineup) they really fuck things up for me.

And then I morph into Otto.

My art morphs into a pink electric toy guitar and I clutch it to my chest and side-eye the fuck out of them.

I also restrict, remove and if necessary block.

So maybe I’ll never “make it”.

Maybe I’m not “being professional” (according to who really)

I’m okay with that.

I’d much MUCH rather be sensitive

Stay sensitive


I am well aware that other artists do it well

Grow thick skin like Amazon forests

Awesome for them

I’m not them

I’m me

If I ever “don’t care” when someone is mean or indifferent or shady with regard to my art and my space.. well

I might as well pack it up and fuck off

The only thing holding me to this urge to “make” is feeling

Plural actually


All of the feelings

So no

I cannot

will not let go of them

Me, my alter-ego Otto and our pink stringy will just side-eye shuffle out of here

Please give us a ten minutes headstart

Art can be a heavy thing to carry

So we won’t be holding the door for you

anxiety makes our palms sweaty

See you when we do.

bottom of page