Eat your own bone marrow

There is no entrance exam to being an artist!

I must confess, I have never actually eaten bone marrow…

but I get the sense I’d make like Anthony Bourdain and slurp it up as though my life depended on it. Which obviously it does, but who needs that tangent?

After all, getting into the center of a thing is one of my favorite things. Yet whenever I do that — taste the center, that is — it dissolves like cotton candy on a warm tongue. Funny how that works.

No matter how many times this happens, I still find myself utterly shocked as I emerge from the underworld and feel the lightness of life again.

I know the underworld season has just begun, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to touch the sun and wear bright colors, does it?

That’s the thing about being an artist. The whole point is to do whatever the fuck you want with the material you’re given. At least in my universe.

The world would have you believe you first need to definitively know something to be worthy of… what?

Creating?

Fuck no.

You get to create, now, with whatever soft, delectable sweetness and earthy, salty salivaciousness (is that a word? now it is!) and spicy, tangy, juicy, drippy, rich, goodness is circulating your system.

That’s right!

There’s no gate. No entry exam. No course you need to take. No curriculum. No approval process. No prerequisite anything… that grants you entry to the chef’s table within you.

Not much else I can say, is there?

Go forth and create my friend!

I mean literally doodle on a post it note if that’s all you’re up for. There is no act too small. No creative gesture the muse does not bless you for.

With love and forehead kisses,

Faye xx

P.S. This interview is 100000% worth the full watch