Bonnie Dixson
Art.
Let’s Spill The Tea
By Bonnie Dixson
…
My name is Bonnie Dixson.
I’m a thirty six year old artist, living up North, as they say.
I have more issues than Vogue.
I think I have just experienced my midlife crisis.
I have been tumbling down a rabbit hole for the past year, right into my shit hole.
I won’t bore you with the details.
(Please see my first issue ‘Advisory’. There, I will go into great depth about my shit hole, and how I found myself here.)
As for the tea… I will give you a very quick run down as to what I’m about.
I am a single mother, work a day job and run an art business.
I am skint, in debt and have thee shittest taste in men. Like fucking nutters. Stay tuned for my ‘Hello Sailor’ issue, to be released soon. (Ex’s beware.)
My day job kills me off and I’m so fucking tired, like really, really tired.
Everyday is the fucking same.
I love my daughter, my family and friends.
I have thee sickest bestie, I love her a lot.
I live in a shit hole but the rent is cheap… (she says, shrugging her shoulders).
I grew up in an abusive household.
Had a child to an abusive man.
I raised my daughter alone.
I fell in love.
He broke my heart.
He liked to gamble and robbed a bank.
I was arrested.
I was… released.
He was not.
I played prison wife for two years.
We broke up.
It took me two years to heal.
I met a disposable, mess, of a man.
I cared for him for a year. (Love a good fixer-upper. This one was a challenge I grew bored off.)
I had a mental breakdown (I think).
I’ve had enough.
I discover weed (thank you god… for the gift of not giving a fuck).
I need some bloody money.
I start painting again.
I set up shop.
Fuck me! I apologise, that was supposed to be short, see what I mean? Fucking issues man!
When my shop was up and running last time, I got invited to show in a gallery in New York.
Yup.
Oh and one in London and a couple of others.
Did I do any of them you ask?
Nope, not a fucking one.
Shit myself, TBH.
I mean, if you have read up to this point, your probably thinking, get the bloody soap and wash that woman’s mouth out… I know, I know, but I’m not fucking sorry. I do swear, a lot… (she winks as she thinks of her next piece of artwork).
Well can you picture me tottering around an art gallery in London, with Karen asking questions about my art.
Nah… I couldn’t let the snobby bitch buy it in the first place.
She wouldn’t get it. She wouldn’t understand my work.
She’s never had to survive a fucking day in her life.
Never had to use a food bank, or had to beg borrow and steal just to get a bit of leckie on, because your emergency ran out like thirty minutes ago.
She would have been disgusted if I’d told her I’d been arrested… to be continued in a later issue.
… Or that I had a really bad addiction to bad boys and it was getting me no where in life.
(The nice guy bores me, what can I do.)
I am waffling shit, I’m so sorry.
Point is, my art is aimed at the working class, the grafters, the survivors, the family, the broken, people like me.
A pre warning… I think I have gone batshit crazy.
When I relayed my fear to someone I was close too, he told me all the best artists go mad.
Well my plan it to become sane, thank you very much.
I like my fucking ears where they are.
Bonnie x
Next issue… ‘Advisory’
Any queries feel free to drop me a message
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