One would think that artists count on some degree of the unknown—the contingency that kickstarts the capacity to make do, that primal urge to summon creative fixes. But artists remain inevitably human, and tipping points get breached largely based on how much calm has been hedged against confluences of distress.
For Pam Yan Santos, the preface to When Grey Turns Blue seemed like an unending series of disabling life hurdles—a parent severely taken ill, a backhanded turn begging reset for a neurodivergent son, wagering puberty among younger offsprings, the near-death of a dearly loved pregnant dog amidst the demise of all four of her pups, all along with Pam’s own patent setting upon perimenopause and the attendant hormonal havoc. There continues to be an acutely felt corporeal wearing down on many fronts for someone so overwrought—the mental, physical, emotional and spiritual turmoil predictably paralyzes, weighs down, keeps one from breathing easy.
Text by Eileen Legaspi-Ramirez
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