Washington State University Senior Exhibition 2020

I never went back to that class. I transferred to a school where staff took the time to learn about dyslexia, dyscalculia and dysgraphia. They adapted they’re teaching methods and helped me succeed in a learning environment geared towards hardened standards and unrealistic expectations for those with learning challenges. I became an Honor Roll student. I earned high grades in advanced placement classes. I fought societal learning norms. I STILL struggle to fit my learning style into a “normal” academic box. Despite current artistic criticism, I have had a solo art show. I have been part of a dual art show. I have been accepted into two juried exhibits. I have sold my art. I feel a dyslexic brain is not bound by one medium or genre, rather all expressions are approached artistically. The ability to adapt gives me great versatility in all mediums of expression. Dyslexia is a part of me, but not all of me. Take the time to understand dyslexia and you will understand my art. You will understand me.

Octolexia is what I’ve named my mental processing method and my exhibit. It is a word made by combining “dyslexia” with “octopus.” Imagine this: you have a giant octopus with 20-foot tentacles sloshing around in your brain. Actually, this octopus IS your brain. Just as in nature, this octopus is an ever-changing shape, fluid in form and color as it molds itself to life’s circumstances.

In this exhibit the observer will experience a small portion of my “octolexia.” I have found this is a difficult topic for many “normal-functioning” brains to comprehend. In this scaled-down version of my original concept, I aggressively use the color orange to highlight the ever-present, hyperintensity of coping with a process with no relief. My octo-brain is represented by a system of intertwining boxes. Every box has a place, every place has a box. These boxes are weirdly stacked, sorted randomly, and connected with obscure objects or the ever-present tentacles. Boxes are difficult to distinguish from one another. They are incoherent. They are disjointed. They seemingly serve no purpose. Boxes are often misinterpreted as unsophisticated and disrespectful to traditional artistic processes. The viewer will often find it difficult to comprehend the correlation between objects, boxes and images, just as I do. That’s what living with dyslexia is like for me. I want the viewer to try to sort through emotions, decisions and societal norms while dragging one box to a stack, trying to correlate purpose when there is none.

Constant motion from tentacles brings certain images into focus. Some images become obscured and hidden away. In this exhibit, photographic images provide the viewer a peaceful moment amongst the chaos. The photos are uncomplicated, a moment with no agenda except peace and escape.

The constant motion of adaption creates what I call the “vortex,” a 360 degree churning spiral filled with anxiety and frustration of invisible standards, expectations and barriers never met or overcome.  When this vortex is at its peak, I personally experience headaches, as if the beak of my octo-anxiety friend is hitting me repeatedly. I feel a suffocating sensation of something winding tightly around me chest and neck, gripping tighter and tighter, as if tentacles were clutching me, unwilling to let go. The brain works overtime. “Octolexia” is in control. As the viewer exits the exhibit, hopefully they will feel the same.