One year as a full time artist

Throughout May 2024, I shared daily reflections honoring one year living full time from the 19′ Airstream Mobile Art Studio and prioritizing art for work. Here are those reflections all in one place. Feel free to skip around using the table of content links below!

Post 1: Intro

5/1/24

Two years ago in May of 2022 I pointed my truck south from Alaska to see the custom Airstream I’d been working on for a year for the very first time. The 19’ trailer was designed both as a mobile art studio and gallery with lots of light, display options, and storage for canvas and paints, and also for living full time.

Then, last year today, my husband and I officially moved into the Mobile Art Studio full time. Once again we departed Alaska, this time having sold our house and quit our day jobs. I went full-time artist, consulting and writing on the side. The future was an experiment. It was exciting, and terrifying.

That brings me to today, celebrating one full year of living in the Mobile Art Studio full time and two years since it transformed my life. Also, it’s my birthday this month! I hope you’ll join me every day of May as I’m going to be reflecting on and sharing the good and the ugly, often surprising, hard-won, funny, high highs and low lows from this way of existing and working fully geographically mobile from 19’ of trailer, and as a full time artist. Check out my freshly redesigned website, alliharveyart.com, for vivid paintings, hot off the press postcard sets, “fridge paintings”, and so much more. This is post number one!

Follow if you’re not yet, and please share with a friend who might enjoy it – the artists, art-enthusiasts, van-life or RV-curious, or anyone who is considering or has made a bold change and come out on the other side to laugh and cry about it. That’s life, right?

Thank you for being with me every step of the way. My second post is about what’s been most surprising to me this past year. That and so much more, tomorrow!

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Post 2: What Has Surprised Me?

5/2

Going in, I never anticipated the many connections with people this way of living affords. Does that sound cheesy?! Maybe, but listen: from my friend that joined for the drive from AK all the way to OH to pick up the studio, to the dream team at Wood + Locks and P&S Trailer Service, all the way to friends and acquaintances that helped us every step of the way, to neighbors and hosts at the various places we’ve stayed, everyone who’s shown up at events, and even the realtors we’ve met because we were in the right place at the right time! Plus, we get to spend more quality and meaningful time with family, especially Reesa (my amazing stepdaughter, now 21), and to reconnect with friends – again, through happy coincidence or planning for actual quality time, like hiking, camping, cooking, climbing, or backpacking together. The list goes ON.

It’s that we’re a little bit more exposed and uprooted right now. But with that “uprootedness” comes flexibility and possibility. I am so grateful for these many connections that truly, in the best way, are under my skin. It helps me inhabit me more, and this life, and inspires me to rinse/repeat/keep creating art. What more can I ask for?!

Tomorrow: the top three highs.

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Post 3: The top three highs!

5/3

1 – Celebrating our ten year anniversary right during peak, yellow aspen punching into the electric blue sky, Utah fall. This was in October. We had an amazing dinner at Hell’s Backbone restaurant in remote Boulder, UT, reflecting on the past ten years and thinking about what we want for the next ten. Then we went to Capitol Reef National Park for a multi-night backpack through a remote and beautiful section of the park. Lots of walking, gawking, and stargazing.

2 – I completed a commission, packed it and myself into the car, and drove to Reno so I could visit with family and friends prior to flying to Alaska for meeting facilitations (and bringing the painting for delivery, too!). On the way to Reno, I camped solo in central Nevada, enjoying my book, a campfire, and the stars. In Reno, I had dinner with Reesa and fully realized for the first time what it means to have a relationship with her as a young adult, and how exciting and profound that feels. I got to spend time with Paula, my mother in law. Then I flew up to Alaska, where I facilitated multiple meetings, saw friends and coworkers, and hand delivered the commission. This three-week chapter exemplified the type of change I and we worked so hard to bring about, and I got to experience a full spectrum of what I’m enjoying so much: dynamism, connection, being outdoors, and painting, truly, for work.

3 – Boondocking in the Mobile Art Studio just above the playa in Nevada’s iconic Black Rock Desert. The sage smell was everywhere. Magenta paintbrush was out. The view was vaster than I can describe in words. It felt like a homecoming.

For all of May I’m celebrating two years of the Mobile Art Studio, one year of living fully geographically mobile with art as my primary focus, and my birthday. Check out my freshly redesigned website, alliharveyart.com, for vivid paintings, hot off the press postcard sets, “fridge paintings”, and so much more. If you love this and want to support my work well into the coming years, please follow, “like” this post, and share this with your friends and family!

Tomorrow: the lows

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Post 4: The three lowest lows

5/4

1 – TruckGate ‘23. Wes and I don’t like to think about how much money we flushed into that thing, or the stress around it. You can enjoy the story of Brian-the-F350’s demise, and our introduction to the diagnosis of “death wobble”, here: https://alliharveyart.com/…/a-painful-pivot-and-new-start/

2 – When a propane tank fell off into (what was thankfully very slow) rush hour traffic in Phoenix. We were moving to our winter campsite digs north of Tucson. What likely happened is the truck’s to-be-diagnosed “death wobble” (see above) wiggled the clamps loose over the course of the drive, and a tank finally fell free. I saw something silver rolling toward traffic in the rear view mirror, and realized in horror that it was OUR TANK. Luckily, Wes was right behind me in the Prius and saw it happen, and the woman in the vehicle toward whom the tank was rolling put her emergencies on and stopped. Wes darted out, grabbed the tank, we threw it in the back of the truck, waved gratefully to the woman, and got back in our vehicles. Shaking (or at least I was), we found a place to pull over, gape at each other, and secure both propane tanks safely in the bed of the truck until we could figure out what had gone wrong.

3 – Our midwinter financial reckoning. Again, after flushing our savings into the truck and then taking on debt to finance its replacement, we were down on our heels during our very first winter of reduced income. Wes didn’t have work, and between art and consulting, mine was just barely enough to cover our expenses. Looking at our finances, particularly post-Christmas, was sobering and sparked a fairly spectacular Alli emotional meltdown paired with a grim, internally-spiraling Wes version of the same. We got in a major fight that boiled down to “this is extremely new territory for both of us and very uncomfortable, and we are both reacting to that in our own separate ways”. Ultimately we got to a point where we were able to better give each other perspective and help the other cope, but it was an exhausting day that eventually got us there.

Whew! I’m glad that one’s over. Let’s lighten things up tomorrow:  my favorite gadget.

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Post 5: Favorite gadget!

5/5

I love these solar-powered string lights. We have three sets! One for the front of the Mobile Art Studio, one for the back, and a “mobile” set we can string outside or bring with us camping.

https://www.amazon.com/…/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o02…

Funny story: my friend Bailey was gifted a set of these by her sister-and-also-my-friend Taylor. Bailey brought the lights with her when she accompanied me for the drive from Alaska south to pick up the Mobile Art Studio, so we’d have some nice ambiance when hanging out at night (pictured: our cozy setup in the bed of the truck, ha!). The lights were lovely, but somehow she forgot to pack them up with her when she left.

Fast forward a few days to my first-ever night in the Mobile Art Studio and the one gripe I had was that the overhead lights were too, well, bright. I needed something softer for evening light. Enter: Bailey/Taylor’s lights, which I affixed to the front of the trailer, enjoyed tremendously, and informed Bailey that that’s where they live now. She fully agreed

Tomorrow’s post: favorite place!

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Post 6: Favorite place

5/6

There are so many; too many. But our winter digs this past year were pretty amazing. If you’re looking for privacy amidst the saguaro right next to vast public land, go to Hipcamp.com and search: “Arizona desert getaway in Avra Valley”.

Haven’t used Hipcamp before? It’s pretty cool! Basically the Airbnb of camping. It’s useful for finding “known” campsites, vs boondocking, that are maybe a little more unique, private, or off-the-beaten-path vs your standard campground.

Tomorrow’s post: scariest moment…

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Post 7: Scariest moment

5/7

Obviously, the “propane tank falling off the trailer into traffic” incident that I (finally) shared a few days ago was legitimately quite scary. Since you already heard about that one, I guess the second-scariest was also related to what I shared about the “lows”: during Wes’/my epic meltdown and argument while trying to cope with the reality of our mid-winter finances. At one point it seemed to me that he was raising the white flag. I heard him say something along the lines of “I’m not cut out for this kind of life”. That, and the implications that come with it and of course ballooned all at once in my mind, was scary to me in those moments before we talked it through. I pictured our house – sold, poof – our stable jobs – quit, poof – and everything we were living, from the Mobile Art Studio to more time outdoors and with family – not right for us after all, poof. Cue the tears. I asked him if that’s what he meant, and after talking about it, it was clear it wasn’t. Both of us were just struggling with the visceral reality of low and unknown income right in the middle of our first winter, and right on the heels of all that had happened with the truck. It took us a bit to work through, but thankfully ultimately we did.

These days we have an easier time navigating fluctuating income. It’s not easy, per se, but it’s nothing like what it felt like that first time.

Pictured: our New Year’s trip to Death Valley National Park, so Wes could scout a route for work. It was kind of perfect timing for a low-low followed by an intentional shift to 2024. I painted this study based on a photo reference from that trip.

Tomorrow: new skill/adaptation!

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Post 8: New skill/adaptation

5/8

Wes and I joke that we enjoyed our first and last summer in St. George (which is where the company he guides for is based). The high last summer was 118 degrees. Suffice it to say, I had to adapt to the heat. Here’s what I learned:

• Metal burns hot and fast. Beware the seatbelt.
• If a phone is acting up, try putting it in the fridge for ten minutes. Yes, even if it’s been in the shade.
• Pebble ice from the soda dispenser at Maverick’s is worth the (very slow) walk (the Airstream doesn’t have a freezer so there’s no ice on board).
• Stepping out of the shower and feeling a slight breeze is the best part of the day.
• Front load anything that takes real energy or focus (see: painting) for early in the day, before heat stupidity sets in.
• Skin coverage helps – counterintuitively, it’s best to wear thin long sleeves, hats, and hoods.
• It is almost unimaginable how much water the human body must both consume and then expel.
• The tap water has to run for a minute in the trailer so the water coming out isn’t burning hot.
• Shade provides real relief, at least in the desert. In humidity, heat hangs on the water in the air. Not here.
• The Airstream AC needs a break every few hours because it’s just constantly on and will falter after a while.
• Deodorant melts. Lip balm melts. The putty filling cracks in the sidewalk retains my sandal print. Don’t even try to have chocolate around between June and September.
• Liquid IV passion fruit, LMNT, and cola flavored Tailwind are the best electrolyte options, IMHO.
• 4pm and after is the hottest time of day, not high noon like you might think.

(Pictured: me running)

Tomorrow: cooking and eating in the Airstream!

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Post 9: Cooking and eating in the Airstream

5/9

Cooking and eating in the Airstream doesn’t stop feeling like some version of playing house as a kid, even though now it’s our every day. Our basic but effective kitchen setup feels like a novelty, particularly when everything is stored in a particular way: knives go here, bowls here, etc. While we can’t bulk shop quite the way we used to because we have limited space, we’ve gotten into a weekly grocery rhythm and way of stocking the fridge/cabinets that works for us: nuts, grains, canned goods (beans, tuna), oils, spices, coffee, and tea in the cabinets. Fruit, including our usual lineup of apples, oranges, bananas, lemons, limes, and avocados in a freestanding metal basket on the counter alongside onions, garlic, and potatoes. And in the fridge, the top shelf is for proteins – eggs, chicken, ground turkey, tofu, and tempeh are some usual suspects. Mid shelf is for frozen veggies and frozen berries (we don’t have a freezer, so those thaw out in a dedicated bin so the water doesn’t run everywhere), bins of greek yogurt, and leftovers. The bottom shelves are for fresh veggies and herbs; the side door is for canned drinks and condiments.

All this to say: we rarely eat out, mostly to save money but also because I’m hard to impress. I hate eating a meal at a restaurant that I could have made at home. I’d rather save my pennies for a good meal and then drop major coin when we do actually eat out. Which, occasionally and spectacularly, we do!

We frequently grill (using our portable table-top, propane fueled setup that we can hook right up to one of the Airstream’s propane tanks, or use the little green ones when we’re on the move), stir-fry, make salads, make omelets, or – as a true millennial – concoct “bowls”, be it Mexican themed or vaguely mish-mash with your protein, veg, and carb quadrants.

Our favorite meals are tied to memories – a significant one was the chicken tagine we made while hauling the Airstream south from Alaska. It was the very first night the Provincial campgrounds were open in Yukon territory, and we were surrounded by snow. We hadn’t yet even added water to the trailer because it was still freezing overnight! I prepped all the ingredients in the trailer in the evening sun with music going, and Wes cooked it in the dutch oven outside. We enjoyed the late spring light that promised it would just get warmer with the coming days as we worked our way south.

Tomorrow: best campsite!

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Post 10: Best campsite

5/10

You know how some moments are “supposed” to be meaningful, but then they roll on by? Hauling the Airstream across the Northern California border into Nevada was not like that. We had been driving all the way from Alaska, “into” this new chapter of life. My heart raced as we officially crossed into the Silver State. The feeling of homecoming was driven in further when we found a boondock camp setup perched in the low hills above the playa, in the Black Rock Desert. Sage brush was everywhere and the air was filled with that smell. I felt extraordinarily lucky. I felt triumphant at finally having made it. I felt fully myself, exultant in that dry, sage-filled air, in a way I hadn’t in a while.

We stayed there three full nights, enjoying the view and the feeling of arrival. And if you happen to ever be in the region, the boondock spot is easy to find – there are several to choose from along Soldier Meadows Road, above the playa.

Pictured: “Black Rock Paintbrush”, 10”x10” acrylic on canvas.

Tomorrow: What inspires me.

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Post 11: What inspires me

5/11

As a kid I often felt outside and apart. That wasn’t just in my head, either. I had chronic asthma and for many years no one could figure out exactly what was tipping me into these major attacks that would land me in the hospital. I spent a lot of time sitting at home.

When I switched school environments, my asthma abruptly disappeared. You’d think that was exciting, and it was. But it was also disorienting. When I didn’t have asthma, I didn’t know who I was.

Over time and with help from friends and mentors, I cautiously tested out ways of being and doing. This was literally me learning how to learn who I was and how to connect with the world. I wrote. I (painstakingly) hiked, and then backpacked. I started to paint.

What inspired me then and what continues to inspire me now is the idea of forging an appreciation for and connection to my and our environs, whatever those may be. Painting helped me call attention to beauty I saw every day. When I took the time and effort to use my acrylic paints to call a scene into being, it made people notice. It was (and is) a way of saying, look at this thing we get to see and experience as humans. Look at how amazing it is, and how lucky we are to be alive, at all, in the world.

If you know me, you know that I’ve taken cumulative and sometimes extreme measures to experience that connectedness to myself, to others, and the world (see: marathons, iron man). But maybe you don’t know that it’s always with the wide-eyed, sometimes annoying awe of a beginner. I still am, in many ways, the kid holed up at home. When I go for a run I feel lucky to do it, at all. When I paint, I experience the fear and thrill of bringing something new into the world.

Pictured: some of my first paintings, from 2003-4!

Tomorrow: What scares me.

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Post 12: What scares me

5/12

I struggle with generally feeling like there isn’t or won’t be “enough” – money, time, resources. It’s hard to know that life itself is constantly moving and changing. Just when I feel caught up or somehow prepared, there’s a curveball. That’s life, right?

Of course, I don’t get the surprising and wonderful highs on offer if I foster too “safe” and guarded of an existence. Clearly, I’ve made my choice. But the “what ifs” that scare me do need more attention and planning as we continue on with this way of living and generating income. Namely, managing some kind of a retirement for as we get older, taking care of our teeth, investing in meaningful preventative healthcare beyond our current catastrophic plan, and building back our emergency fund post F350-gate of last year.

Generally these past few years have taught me that by and large things work out. My job is to be responsible within reason (like planning for the above), trust that I can handle what comes up, and otherwise do my best to be fully present for this one fleeting, wonderful, chaotic life I get.

The lighter fears are perpetually around “maybe this is the painting I won’t be able to finish”, like these paintings – snowy scene twin commissions I wanted to do justice. I try to move through this anxiety step by step until I find “an” end, and in that way painting is good practice for life. It is also a good practice in remaining present.

Tomorrow: a typical day

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Post 13: A typical day

5/13

My brain usually fires up at 6 or 7am.

It’s Wes’ or my turn to put away the fold-out bed at the front of the studio or make coffee. We sip and read for about an hour, and coordinate if either of us needs the Airstream that day (for Zoom or painting).

I usually spend an hour+ on art administration, social media, or creative tasks. That could be creating a social post, writing, working on my website, or painting.

I eat something, and exercise – be it walking or running.

Midday, I work more – painting or consulting. The two hour time difference from AK is nice, because I can hop online at 11am and everyone is just getting to the office. Somewhere in there, I make a quick lunch.

I get on calls, answer emails, write proposals, draft agendas, etc for consulting. If it’s art, you know the drill – I set myself up with a string of podcasts or music queued up, and paint!

Then, a break – a walk, catching up on the phone with a friend, or strolling to the gym for a strength workout.

In the late afternoon, I try to do at least one more task, even if it’s just “life admin” (make the doc appointment, call the bank about the thing, get groceries).

Then, evening. It’s one of my favorite times of day. Take a shower. Turn on music as the sun lowers. Crack a cold beverage; do a crossword on my phone. Wes and I take turns making dinner/cleaning.

Sometimes after dinner we take a walk. Back at the studio, we read, watch Netflix, or spend time on our phones. Whoever’s turn it is to make the bed, they do it while the other stages coffee for the morning. Brush, floss, wash, moisturize. I’m typically asleep by 10pm.

Tomorrow: Favorite painting!

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Post 14: Favorite painting

5/14

It’s one of the first I did. I was at Sudbury Valley School, maybe 16, spending my days in the art room. At the time I chose my painting subjects from would-be yearbook photos that didn’t make it in. This was an early version of what I do now – finding those “failed” snapshots in which I still saw beauty, and painting to call attention to it. It worked!

Also through SVS and amazing (and very patient) mentors there, I’d recently discovered hiking and backpacking. There was a school trip I couldn’t go on, probably due to a work conflict. But I loved one of the photos that came back from that trip. Bonus: it featured my friends and mentors.

Most of the painting was sky. I painstakingly learned how to do it: how to manage the paint, not to overwork it, how to blend, how the colors I saw truly were vastly different from one edge of the image to the other yet, somehow, needed to be seamless. I remember wanting to stop. The colors were still blocky across the canvas. I thought it looked cool, maybe? I asked a friend for his opinion, and he encouraged me to keep going. I sighed. I knew he was right, and I wouldn’t be satisfied til I’d unlocked it.

I still look at images of that painting, see the people with the faint mountains in New Hampshire, and that sky, and the entire meaning of the painting comes together for me – representing me as a young person outgrowing asthma and absence while figuring out who I was and what I loved, the people that helped me, and how I learned to paint.

The postscript is that this piece was also an early marker for me in creating a career from painting. It hung briefly in one of the coffee shops I worked at, and was purchased by a patron that I still know today. This was a profound moment for me: my art spoke to people beyond myself and my immediate friends/family network. The piece now lives in Brazil.

Tomorrow: Favorite commission

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Post 15: Favorite commission

5/15

I learn a lot from commissions. The reference images aren’t ones I chose, so I inhabit someone else’s view on what moves them. It’s work to get in that mindset, maybe somewhat akin to what acting feels like (I don’t know).

My favorite commission was the *most* work to see, at least at first. Rita sent the photo reference over and I kind of squinted at it. I mean, Black Rock Desert, you’ve got me there. Mountains. A rainbow. But something in the back of my mind wondered, this one? The palette was moody; the mountains were distant.

But it wasn’t a full on no go, and she was super excited so I decided to trust her.

As I started painting, I saw it – the moodiness became depth and an array of subtle colors and textures. The far-off mountains turned spotlit in the vastness that is so unique to that place.

I got really excited. And by the end, part of me didn’t want to give her the painting! Although of course I did. Thank you, Rita

So, that’s what comes to mind when I think of my favorite commission. It was a process that was both humbling and awesome. I feel lucky to experience that to some extent with every commission I complete, because it’s growing my own sense of awe in what I/others see in the world.

Tomorrow: what I miss most

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Post 16: What I miss most

5/16

Don’t laugh: smoothies. We don’t have a freezer (although we do have a little rechargeable blender), so I don’t get smoothies as routinely as I used to. Related: toast. Appliances are a premium on the Airstream with our limited space, and a one trick pony device doesn’t make the cut.

I also kind of miss everything and everyone all the time (wasn’t that a movie? ). By this I mean I have a pretty constant driving wish to teleport everyone to be with me when the going’s good. I want to share the view, the air, the hot red rock – whatever it is. That’s just part of who I am.

So, I channel this “missing” into painting as a way to convey that sense of shared experience. Writing, too. It’s obviously not satisfying the wish for others to “be here now”, but for me at least it really helps translate those moments into something tangible I can share.

And, when I do see people and share amazing experiences together, the upshot is that these days I am fully present. Head’s not elsewhere. I turn my phone over and truly spend the time. So, I think that leads to less missing – at least, less missing out. I’m not too fragmented or stressed to actually be where I am.

Pictured: selfie from my first ever visit to Bryce National Park, where I got the photo reference (…of many, ha!) that I later translated to this painting, Hoodoo Spring.

Tomorrow: what I appreciate most

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Post 17: What I appreciate most

5/17

Time. And quality of time. Time to be, play, create, get frustrated and regroup, take a break, pause and consider what I’m doing and if I want to try something different, talk myself down off a ledge, prepare a good meal, and of course: time to paint.

I used to find time for painting in the margins of the rest of my life. And it wasn’t the *time* itself that was the struggle exactly, it was energy. Even if I could carve out an hour here or there, it was hard after a 40+ hour workweek, life’s dumb administrative requirements, my body’s dumb eating and maintenance requirements, family and social stuff, etc to have energy leftover to create something from nothing. Of course the process of painting is awesome, but it’s still an effort.

So, now, with needing less money therefore working (a traditional job, anyway) less than I did before, I’ve created that time (read: energy) that gives me enough space for creativity. And I do! I create so much. But it’s all woven in with time and how I spend it, and often that’s laterally: simply enjoying and taking in life in its many moments.

Thank you for giving me that time. For real. I couldn’t do this without every single person who has supported me through this. It’s pretty damn amazing. And I believe that this shouldn’t just be a luxury afforded to me. I think having the time to inhabit and grow our lives the way each of us wants and needs to is a human right, which is why I’ve taken time to articulate my values as Alli Harvey Art, including how I work to realize those. But – that’s for a future post!

(Oh! One more thing I appreciate?! Other people’s showers. I love taking a luxurious shower in a space I don’t have to clean myself, and ogling your many SOAPS).

Tomorrow: most cringe moment…

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Post 18: Most cringe moment

5/16

Ohhh, our most cringe moments were probably over this past winter when we didn’t have a reliable trash disposal system. We would routinely “ninja trash” our garbage. That entailed bringing a medium-sized bag to, say, the gas station or stuffing it in those nicely spaced and typically vacant garbage cans in WalMart parking lots.

Could we have gone to the transfer station? Sort of. We did very occasionally, but it was fifty minutes away and we didn’t have a great receptacle for accumulating trash. So, frequent, sting-operation-like, ninja trash operations it was.

There’s something truly humbling about feeling like a person who is a leech on society in this very specific way. I always tried to stand a little straighter and just own the act of cramming a bag full of my own household waste into a bin designed to accept coffee cups. If I was going to do it, I figured I might as well own it.

I’m glad that chapter is over and we now have a dumpster but a short walk away. And while I don’t have a pic of me ninja-trashing, here is a recently sold painting featuring trash-turned-art, “Butte Sunset”.

Tomorrow: how eating has changed

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Post 19: How eating has changed

5/19

Someone recently asked me this question, and it’s a good one. Before making this switch into living full time in a 19’ rig, I vaguely wondered about this too. In Alaska, we lived far enough away from most restaurants and those options were so limited that we mostly cooked at home, and rarely ate out. Or at least – that was our excuse, apparently, because our habits in the Airstream have stayed the same!

The “what” we eat hasn’t changed much. Same basics: usually yogurt in the morning, leftovers for lunch, and your usual lineup of protein, grain, and veggies for dinner. How we prepare it has changed.

For one, we don’t have an oven. Enter: the tabletop portable grill (which we love) for the closest approximation to baked/roasted foods. In the winter months, we mix up grilling outside with using the stovetop range inside. In the summer months, the only time of day you’ll see that stovetop range lit is in the morning to boil water for coffee. Otherwise, we aren’t adding any more heat to the inside of the shiny tin can we inhabit than absolutely necessary!

And maybe this is related to Mobile Studio living or maybe it’s just our season of life, but we have slowly come to drink alcohol significantly less than we once did. On average we probably drink once a week, but sometimes it’s less. So, you see a lot more kombucha and other sparkly water type beverages knocking around our fridge, with the occasional beer or bottle of wine.

Pic: me enjoying the haute cuisine known as “Sandwich” in Zion National Park.

Tomorrow: Hygiene…

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Post 20: Hygiene

5/20

The whispered part: “Do you guys…shower?!”

When I was working with Kelly Padgett of Wood & Locks throughout 2021 and early ‘22 to design the Mobile Art Studio via Zoom calls, I had a slew of decisions to make prioritizing what would be incorporated into the final design. What were the “need to have’s” vs “nice to have’s”?

I hemmed and hawed a little over which category “shower” fell into. Bear in mind, everything was going to cost money, so I was just trying to gauge what was necessary and what I could adapt around.

Kelly rarely put her foot down, but in this case I remember feeling a distinct sense of relief when she asserted, “You’re going to need a shower”. Thus, the decision was made.

The shower she designed and P&S Trailer Service built is gorgeous. People see it and gawk at the sauna-like soothing quality of the teak wood, and the unusual spaciousness of it compared to most Airstream showers that have you bathing right over the toilet (this one is right *next* to the toilet; ultimate luxury).

It’s a trailer shower, so it runs hot and cold as the mighty, little water heater works to keep up. For whatever reason, it’s never quite drained properly so that takes management/squeegeeing. But it functions enough so we can scrub the sunscreen off ourselves, and be within close proximity to each other, and (bonus!) pass in polite, nice-smelling society.

That said, I never pass up the offer of another shower and relish in anything longer than 30 seconds of running water.

Tomorrow: what annoys me

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Post 21: What annoys me

5/21

Unfortunately this one is pretty easy: inconsiderate actions of other people and, related, dogs.

Examples: I routinely walk to the St George Rec center, which apparently is somewhat of an extreme sport due to the general dominance of cars and lack of awareness of anything else. There’s one crosswalk in particular that people routinely blow through, even when I’m right in the middle of it. My defense is to wave and wait to put my body in the path of the car until they’ve acknowledged me or slowed/stopped. But half the time – that’s not an exaggeration – they blow through, whether through ignorance or a sense of impatience/entitlement at being in a vehicle, I don’t know.

And it is amazing how many people leave their dogs to bark endlessly throughout the day and night, or don’t leash them in their yard or on the trail. I need to work on managing my ire at this, because it’s completely out of my control but I can at least try to improve my response, which is honestly often irritated/ruminating in my head if it’s just the barking bothering me, or loud if I feel threatened.

So yea: what annoys me are people almost hitting me with their cars, and people being inconsiderate of/with their pets. Understandable, I think! But I don’t like dwelling on it.

(Okay – one more thing that annoys me is having to responsibly wear proper skin/sun protection such as “sunscreen”, “SPF shirts”, and – the worst – HATS. Here is me being annoyed, yet doing what I must to head out into the elements).

Tomorrow: how I manage money

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Post 22: How I manage money

5/22

I love sharing about this and will tell anyone that will listen how, in advance of making this shift into full time art and living in the Mobile Studio, my husband and I overhauled how we manage our finances. It required us to completely reimagine our approach, and then create tools from scratch to support that.

How we used to do it: our paychecks would land in our individual bank accounts, and then each of us would pay our half into a shared bills account.

Now, we’ve flipped that around. Our paychecks (including profit, less business development expenses, from AllI Harvey Art) first land in one shared account. Our bills are paid from here (rent, health/car/business insurance, cell phones, etc). After bills, we allot a percentage of what’s left over to a general daily expenses account. We each have a debit card tied to this account to pay for things like groceries and gas. Then, a percentage goes to a contingency/savings account. And finally, at the very end, what’s left over gets transferred to each of our individual accounts for us to spend how we like.

What this approach enables us to do is create some stability even with our fluctuating incomes. Downside? I have less pocket change to myself. But at the same time, what I want most is to make the most of this time in our lives. If that means I often have less personal spending money than I once did, that is a price of admission I’m willing to pay.

We track all of the above in a spreadsheet we made. I am sincerely proud of us – it takes a lot to imagine something like this and then to see it all the way through.

(Pic: us budgeting together. Lmao jk)

Tomorrow – what I would do differently

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Post 23: What I would do differently

5/23

The major thing I would do differently in retrospect is to try – TRY! – to worry less.

I get a lot of this “oh, you’re brave – moving from Alaska to Reno for love!” or, “quitting your stable job to be an artist!”, and maybe that’s true, but I never feel brave. My lived reality of bringing these decisions to fruition often has the hallmarks of my inner east coast, risk averse self: fretting, calculating (and re-calculating), ruminating. In those months leading up to the Mobile Studio pickup and even through it, I was more of a stress case than I wanted to be. If it was there to worry over, I did:  would I be able to learn to back up the trailer? What if I didn’t have enough money? What if the truck broke down? What if something happened with the trailer and I was unable to fix it? Would I be able to drive at night? What if I forgot to do something vital – did I have the proper insurance; did I pack xyz?!

Now, looking back, I want to tell myself to just ease up and try to trust that life happens step by step and things will likely pan out how they should. Don’t cling too hard; don’t clench – just hold, gently, and take in the view. It’s okay and important to enjoy the ride between and leading up to milestones.

I’m a bit better at embodying that these days. I’m not fully “Jesus take the wheel”, but when crap comes up I’m trying to see it as part of my whole experience, rather than an obstacle between me and the life I want to lead. It helps, of course, that the massive “newness” that was the trailer has settled more into normality, and that I do, in fact, know how to back up a trailer. Pretty dang well, actually.

(Pictured: the stunning backdrop to so much of my fretting, Pioneer Peak. From “Matanuska River Ice”, 12”x12”, sold):

Tomorrow: biggest art “aha”

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Post 24: Biggest art “aha”

5/26

Painting is a muscle, and the more I do it the better I retain and grow my skills. When I take too much time off in between paintings, it’s a bit more of a struggle to find the right colors; brush strokes as readily as when I’m painting consistently. That’s why this time in my life where I actually have the time and energy to focus on painting is so amazing to me – it’s the first time since I was a kid first getting into painting that I actually have a lot of myself to dedicate to it. And I think it’s showing as my paintings evolve.

Thank you for enabling this to happen. For real: I couldn’t do this without you. You’re helping me become a better artist, which equips me to continue to grow and put my work out into the world. I am so extremely grateful!

Pictured: recently completed “Sandstone After Rain”, a complex painting I don’t know if I’d have been bold enough to try a year ago.

Tomorrow: dealing with dirty laundry

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Post 25: Dealing with dirty laundry

5/25

Nope, no washer/drier on the Airstream. So we’ve gone back to my NYC days: we’re laundromat people now!

Laundry is a mixed chore. On one hand it IS a chore, but on the other it’s not the worst (more on that below). We do it weekly.

The thing about lacking the convenience of on-site laundry is that it forces a kind of rhythm to how we use our clothing, and it creates some structure/routine that actually allows for downtime. There’s less pressure to DO more, because we can’t – we have this task we must do; this place one of us has to be for two hours.

And that in and of itself is sort of freeing. I will often bring my laptop and do some writing from the laundromat, or get some consulting tasks done, or just read. Sometimes I’ll pace outside and catch up with someone on the phone.

It means that quarters are at a premium. We have a zip lock baggie dedicated to them that we do our best to keep well-stocked, in case we find ourselves in a random small town with laundry facilities but seemingly no quarters (hello, Baker, NV).

It also means we have enough clothing to get us through any given week, but not so much that it exceeds the space we have available for storage between the trailer, the Tundra, and the Prius. As you can imagine, it’s taken us some time to find this sweet spot. I think we’re still and maybe always finding it.

Pictured: scheduling this post while laundering. Meta!

Tomorrow – my most frequently asked question (and answer!)

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Post 26: My most frequently asked question

5/26

Q: “So – are you a full-full time artist? Like…do you woooork?, or….”

A: I get this one a lot! I get it – I think the trailing off part of the question means both ‘how do you make enough money?’ and also, ‘do you do anything that more resembles the kind of job most of us are familiar with, or are you full time floating around and painting Bob Ross-esq fluffy clouds?’

The answer: my work prioritizes art, but also includes meeting facilitation, and writing. That middle one – consulting – is what most resembles “work-work”. I have a laptop, I work with a consulting firm, I have clients, I set up/attend meetings, etc. The firm I work with is Information Insights, a kickass women-owned business based in Fairbanks, that specializes in research, planning, organizational support, and – hey this is me! – facilitation.

I feel lucky to get to work with the clients I’ve gotten to know throughout the years. It’s one way I keep myself grounded and feeling like I contribute to a positive impact that’s bigger than me. Facilitating meetings is the HARDEST thing I do. It takes all my energy, care, focus, and often bravery, to navigate difficult moments – real time – in a way that is true both to my values and also to a group’s shared purpose. But when I get to witness moments of shift with people doing impactful work that makes the world a better place, it’s worth it. That’s what keeps me coming back and continuing to invest in facilitation even alongside art and running my small business.

And then writing! I used to write a weekly outdoors column for Anchorage Daily News. I miss it. I try to keep up with writing now, through these posts, my art blog, and other projects I’m excited to share with you as they develop.

So the answer is yes, I am a full time artist, AND I continue to consult and write!

Pictured: me in facilitator mode! Clarification?

Tomorrow: SECRET BIRTHDAY POST!

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Post 27: What I’m most proud of

5/27

I haven’t shared this yet, but today’s my 39th birthday so that’s as good a time as any. I’m proud that over the past year I’ve been able to give away half my income.

Before I explain, that sounds WAY more dramatic than it is. Put the emphasis on *my* income – meaning, what goes into my own personal bank account after bills and allotments to our day to day/savings accounts have been made. It is a modest sum by any standard.

But for a while there, as Wes and I were throwing everything we could and even asking for and receiving incredible support toward realizing the Mobile Studio dream, I felt like I was no longer contributing. The “cause” was my life change, which – cool, short term. But I can’t live with myself like that for long. I am so freaking lucky to lead the life I do. And I believe everyone deserves to live a full, joyous life in a world and environment that supports them. I have to make meaningful contributions (money, time, energy, or all of the above) toward that end.

I make decisions about organizations and causes I give to guided by my values: awe, dignity, and doing. My ask for my bday? Please make a meaningful contribution (money or time!) toward something that aligns with and furthers these values in the world! There are many organizations, coordinated efforts, and people out there doing important work. I think when everyone puts in effort it improves things in some way. That’s what I want to see more of – believing, and doing.

The organizations I gave to this past year are Trustees for Alaska, the legal firm that works to protect Alaska’s public lands, and the Equal Justice Initiative, an Alabama-based antiracist organization working to end mass incarceration. But there are many more. Please let me know in the comments if you do contribute and where to, so I/others can check it out!

Tomorrow: what I’m most grateful for

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Post 28: What I’m most grateful for

5/28

I am not myself without the love, friendship, mentorship, family (including chosen), and support of so many of you. Maybe that’s a bold statement. But ever since I was young I’ve been lucky to observe and incorporate advice and sometimes even attributes of people I respect, and now as an adult every single moment of my life is buoyed up in some way by others. It’s not even about what I can and can’t do alone: it’s how much I am able to grow. It’s all about people. And yes, of course, I take these inputs and try my best to live a life of integrity that is a match to others’ investments in me. I do this for you; I do it for me. But the incredible people who are intrinsic to how I am able to be in the world are what I am most grateful for. Hands down.

Thank you all. You know who you are.

Pictured: the inner door of the Airstream Mobile Art Studio, with messages from so many of the people who helped make the dream a reality. Many Airstreamers put stickers from the various places they’ve been in this spot on their rigs; I wanted to include people who are along for and invested in this ride! I love seeing the messages every day.

Tomorrow: top lesson learned…

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Post 29: Top lesson learned

5/29

I’m capable of dealing with whatever comes up. And, curveballs are not *outside* of my life but a part of it. If I look at what feels scary or uncomfortable as hurdles I have to clear in order to get to my “actual” life (whatever that means), I risk missing some of the best moments.

Example: am I picking up a 4,000 lb Mobile Art Studio that I am going to tow from Ohio, across the Lower 48, and eventually back up to Alaska but…I have never hitched up a trailer before, AND have no clue how to back up?! This caused me slight anxiety, I’ll admit it. Yet that sunny day of trailer lessons in Palmer, AK was one of the happiest, brightest days of those months; and one that made me feel profound gratitude for the people I’m lucky to call friends. 

I’ve intellectually known that problems are just part of life for a long time. But I still felt like they were outside of me and scary. They’re still often scary. But, by and large, I am getting much better at rolling along and through, and instead of fighting, just trying to be present, enjoy what I can, and learn as I go. It’s a much nicer way to live my life, to be perfectly honest. I’m not constantly fighting a tide or dealing in “should’s”. I’m learning to trust myself more.

Tomorrow: what I’m working on

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Post 30: What I’m working on

5/30

In the coming year, I want to connect to more people who may be interested in my work. That means I’m painting a lot. I’m writing consistently, updating my website, and posting to social media. And I’m setting up in-person events throughout the year – I’ll post those here and on my website as they’re official. For now, mark your calendars for the Truckee Arts & Crafts Fair in (you guessed it) Truckee, CA on June 29th and 30th, and the Escalante Canyons Arts Festival in Escalante, UT from September 20-29th.

In many ways, this past year has been simply adjusting. Wes and I have learned how to co-inhabit the 19’ Airstream. We’ve adapted our income, and learned new rhythms of life, work, friends, and family. I think I may just be getting started in fully inhabiting what my bestie calls my “artist era”. So that, in a nutshell, is what I’m working on.

Pictured: some of my newest work from the past year! 

Tomorrow: The truth of it all

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Post 31: The truth of it all

5/31

I wonder if I’m on my way to being boring. Aren’t content people like that? If I have nothing major to gripe about, where’s my spark? Am I going to be one of those birder types who can contentedly rattle off the different species and calls with seemingly no heed paid to my (anxiously looking around, how do I exit this conversation) audience? Am I going to wax poetic about various trails I’ve walked, in whatever park, and maybe I saw an animal – ?! I’m bored even making fun of my potential.

I *am* content, big picture, right now. It doesn’t mean I don’t stress, get into funks, deal with problems as they come up, etc. But I’m more even keeled than I’ve ever been. And I’m aware that too much of this could soften my edges, some of which I really actually like.

From this perspective, I am committed to staying grounded. I don’t want to sit on a fluffy cloud and paint the days away – I want a little of that, but it’s important to me to take my energy and apply it to being in the world, in all of its complicated, often unpleasant, sometimes brutal reality. It’s important to Citizen (a verb, as defined by the comedian & writer Baratunde Thurston). It’s important to keep my humor, which really comes alive – whatever this says about me – in darkness. And I need to keep creating art from a place of shared reality and awe, so that it’s relevant and useful. I believe each of us deserve that access to joy and beauty, daily. It’s my commitment to continue painting this into being and sharing it as often as I can.

In reflecting on these last years, I’ve realized – trite though it sounds – that this is just the beginning. To paraphrase my bestie: “You should just embrace your artist era, Alli”. I’m still learning how to do that.

With that, this month’s reflections celebrating the Mobile Art Studio’s two year anniversary, one year as full-time geographically mobile artist, and my bday comes to a close! Thank you, thank you for being part of this – I mean it from the bottom of my heart when I say I could not do this without you, and am profoundly grateful.