Guest post from Bimini, black cat extraordinaire

 

Hola, friends.

It is I — Bimini.
Black cat. Muse. Visionary. Creative Director of BiminisBoutique (my mama assists).

My mama, VanGoghChica, has once again handed me the keyboard. She says I have “things to say.” She is correct.

First, yes — we are collaborating on my eBay boutique. But let us be clear: I am the Creative Director. Mama handles opposable thumbs and shipping labels. 

You may have seen the caricature our dear friend Gracie created of us. We are shown in full art mode. Mama in her collar. Me in my sleek authority. Now, between us, Mama is having another neck surgery this month. Soon she will shed that collar. But honestly? She rocks it. Collar, walker, fierce brown girl spirit — all of it. I approve.

Now.

The first pieces I have placed in my boutique are very dear to my velvet heart.

As Mama’s daughter (yes, species is irrelevant), her concerns are mine. She is the daughter of Peruvian immigrants. A brown baby boomer growing up Spanish-speaking in the U.S. South. She learned early what it means to be “other.” She learned the texture of bigotry. The edge of it. The danger of it.

The fight for immigrant dignity is not a niche concern. It is a human concern. Some understand that. Some do not. This is where I enter the room.

My inaugural offerings are dedicated to justice.

We live in South Florida. LatinX communities here are being targeted. The current mandate to rid this country of immigrants of color has brought an immigrant detention center into our beloved Everglades — constructed on ancestral Miccosukee land, within Big Cypress National Preserve. Mama worked there for years. She knows that land. She loves that land. It is sacred.

And now?

Hundreds of millions of dollars to build. Hundreds of millions more each year to operate. Money that could educate children. Heal the sick. Sustain families.

Instead, it cages human beings.

They call it “Alligator Alcatraz.” I have attended protests. I would hiss louder if they allowed me a megaphone. But I must monitor my blood pressure. (Excuse me while I reach for a pawful of catnip.)

Back to art.

Mama and I believe in something we call #ArtAsWitness.

We do not create pretty things to decorate denial.

We create work that stands beside those under pressure. We bear witness. We do not look away because it is inconvenient. Or messy. Or bad for business.

You may have noticed my silhouette on these cards. That is intentional.

I see you.
I do not avert my gaze. 

One of my early designs references the phrase “Never Again,” drawn from the Hebrew poem Masada and later used by Holocaust survivors. It became a rallying cry against antisemitism.

I use it now to highlight parallels we are witnessing — the systematic targeting of brown, foreign-speaking people. Citizens and non-citizens alike. ICE agents are rounding up brown bodies first and asking questions later. Many LatinX citizens have been detained in facilities meant only for “illegals.”

“Never Again” must not belong to history alone.
It must belong to now.

And yet.

Not everything in my boutique is protest and fire.

Some items are pure Black Cat Magic (BCM). Mystique. Playfulness. Protection. Beauty for beauty’s sake. 

Because joy is resistance too.

If you know me, you know I carry a mystical streak. I read tarot. I conjure benevolent spells. I advocate for animals — especially black cats, who remain the most misunderstood and under-adopted of our kind.

My boutique will hold multitudes.

Some pieces speak loudly.
Some whisper.
All are beautiful.
All are intentional.

Come visit me at BiminisBoutique.

Adopt a little black cat magic for your life.
Stand witness with me.
Or simply let me enchant your aura.

With a flick of my tail and unwavering eye contact,
Bimini 🖤

One year recovery anniversary through lens of my art journal

September 19th is the one year anniversary of my emergency hospitalization for cervical myelopathy that resulted in cervical surgery (corpectomy and fusions). Three months after that on December 27th, I again had an emergency hospitalization and that resulted in thoracic spinal sugery (T9-12)

You see, my entire spine has sustained a lot of damage over time; to the point that the spinal compression was severe enough for paralysis and fatality. I ended up having two complicated neurosugeries  (cervical and thoracic) over three months. 

I am coming up on my one year anniversary of my first emergency hospitalization/surgery. I want to share with you two different art journal entries I created this year about my recoveries. To hear a much more detailed story with visuals, check out my You Tube video here. 

This first page was made five months post op from my cervical surgery. As you can see, I felt stuck, angry and sad. This was most optimistic page I created at that time. I tried to envision hope with the yellow at top. But falling over and pain were paramount in my mind. The overall sense in this piece is being unable to break through brick walls, tears, pain and not being able to walk or balance. I felt defeated.

In the second art journal spread, I focussed on the physical realm and the emotional realms. 

Having been to hell and back in both those worlds, I have adopted the phoenix as a special animal symbol for myself. Legend has it that the phoenix re-births itself after being consumed by fire. 

Yes. She swooped up beside me and I felt the wisps of flames licking my skin as she flew by.

You still see tears but I am now releasing some emotional tears (blue), not just the red ones of pain and fury. I incorporated butterflies for transformation and drew on the wisdom of my ancestors through the High Priestess tarot card. 

I only used paper that I had drawn on, painted, stamped or altered in some way. I like working in layers. Can you spot the three hospital bands in each art journal piece? They are white, red and yellow. They were color copies of the actual bands I wore for a month. You can find the white band in the video.  This photo cropped it out.

There is so much to say about this first year of recovery. It is like an onion. But what I take away is resilience, acceptance and yet, still I hold onto hope. And maybe one more . . . gratitude. Yes, I'll leave it at that.

Disabilities SD 480p

How I live with my disabilities.

Palestine inspirational card

 I am currently in a card making certification course. As I am studying different techniques, I am making some cards for myself as well as  my homework.

I am thinking of pulling together small sets of my handmade cards that I will offer on my Etsy store. What I have in mind are cards that might not be easy to find such as the pro Palestine one here. Cards on the side of fairness, kindness, anti-bigotry and overall fun cards as well.

Handmade cards are labor intensive and thus costly. Most solo card makers invest a lot of money to produce these small, popular handicrafts. And there is definitely a craft to card making.

I hope that someday handwritten correspondence makes a comeback. Personally, I have always loved writing and receiving letters from loved ones; and it's something I hope to do all of my days. These days people communicate with the use of technology and often bypass tangible handcrafts. But I do think handmade cards will always remain a niche market because there's nothing like receiving a small handicraft with a loving message that you can display on your counter, over your desk, etc
 

Times of repression call for us to become spiritual warriors. Let your inner bruja out!

 

When times get tough, brujas (witches) start dusting off their wands, potions, banishing salts… And these are tough times.

In case you've been living under a rock, the orange one's xenophobic immigration policies are setting up an Everglades internment camp for immigrant-looking folks - with no due process! I say "immigrant-looking" because the authorities need no proof of your immigration status. They just need to suspect you could be an "illegal" and they can cart you off. This ever expanding camp is close to where I am living, next to the Everglades.

Now, in all seriousness, I am also a good Catholic girl that loves God, Jesus and Holy Spirit. I just believe there are many paths to the divine in our world and I am called by various practices. Essentially, I live with a reverence for the divine feminine that manifests itself in the natural word and within ourselves. I believe my ancestors can be a source of guidance and inspiration spiritually. I cry for Jesus' suffering, just as I cry for all women burned and murdered for being "witches" (or just thorns-in-the-side of the ruling patriarchy of her times).

These days, I cringe listening and reading news. So much suffering and attacks. So much disconnect from what is whole, beautiful, sacred. It has been so devastating to me, that I am shoring up my spiritual strength. Part of that is reinvigorating my spiritual practices and connections with my spiritual community. 

Adding insult to injury, last month, a woman who makes her living as a psychic  told me I had some bad mojo hexing me. She created a nightmare scenario and told me I needed (her) psychic protection asap. And get this - all for the modest sum of $6,000! I was very disappointed.  She exposed herself as a scammer, trying to take advantage of what she felt was an easy mark; someone desperate to walk. She told me without this psychic protection I would never walk again and my bad luck, including health-wise, would continue. It spooked me for sure. But I know a scammer when I meet one. Needless to say, this experience only reinforced my knowledge that I needed to reconnect to my center, my divine and practice my spirituality with more concerted efforts.

I do believe that everyone needs psychic protection at all times. Negative energies are all around us; but I also know that I'm not going to pay someone I just met $6000 to do it for me. This was a wake up call. I need to recommit to my spiritual practice and protect myself from harmful energies. 

Around this same time, a friend of mine passed on information about a mutual acquaintance, Z!, that is running a find-your-divinity virtual group. It was sort of an FYI thing and at first I declined. But after the yukky experience with the scammer, I rethought this group. I contacted the host, Z!, and asked questions. Now I am enjoying these weekly zoom gatherings. Z! leads somatic exercises to help us get centered in our bodies and learn how to listen deeply to ourselves for our own truths and divine purposes. The picture to the right is Z! I recommend them as a consultant.

This recent inner struggle over my spiritual authority has resolved into a creative surge. I have been working a lot on creative projects and I have some ideas for paintings I would like to create. But my time is stretched thin these days. I am sure I will get to them. You may see a spectacular tree and/or a rising phoenix in my gallery soon.

(Thanks to Canva for placing my 2024 Halloween bruja in an Everglades detention camp, doing a banishing). 

Baby compassion

I've had many friends over the years ask me how I became an activist. Usually, I tell them about my university days. A period of time when many young people become politicized. But for me, my politicization seems to have been with me as far back as I can remember. As a young child I knew nothing of politics, but I had a heart; and compassion allowed me to see injustices around me and I responded with sadness and a desire to help. 

Around the age of 4 years, my mother and I had a fun lunch ritual. She often gave me one hotdog (which I still love to this day) and I would sit at the top of our kitchen stairs that went down to our basement, my back to her, doing kitchen things. This kept her youngest close to her,  out of trouble.* 

I would peel back the outer layer of hotdog casing and eat the dog slowly, relishing every bite. Everyday, I sat at the top of the stairs and my sightline would look below the stair railing because I was so small. This is not the actual staircase but you get the idea. The railing was held up by hardware that held brackets in place under the railing. Our railing had many more brackets all the way down the stairs. Kind of like this: Now, my baby imagination did not see stair rail brackets. Rather, I saw a row of arms and hands shackled. Can you see the similaritiy? 

I remember so clearly showing my mother over and over and lamenting over all these arms chained in a row. I cried several times. My mother kept trying to tell me that it was just hardware, but my young mind saw people suffering. 

To this day, I am baffled at how I even knew about shackles or people being imprisoned at that young age; but apparently I did. I remember talking daily to the arms and people I thought were attached to them. I would comfort them and tell them I would free them soon. I would lift things to their hands, thinking I was giving them food or drink. 

Once, my mother took a screwdriver out of my hand because I was trying to figure out how to use it. I had asked my mom what was the mechanism that kept them there and she told me the brackets were "screwed" in. And she told me how screws worked. She thought it would make me see them as just hardware. But to me, she gave me an idea for an escape plan.

My many attempts to free them were thwarted and I was doomed to perpetually be sad knowing they were there. I prayed for them. Eventually, as I got into kindergarten and first grade, my mom allowed me to hang out by myself in the next room; and I had my hotdog in front of cartoons. I guess cartoons erased my memory as I do not remember sitting and talking to the "prisoners" much at those ages. I bet my mom was relieved! 

So, I guess I should say, that my activism started around the age of four; when I became conscious of  "injustice" and "suffering" and a desire to help people suffering. Just goes to show that most social movements are run by leaders motivated by love. Not money or fame. True leaders are just able to see clearly. And they react with compassion and a desire to help.

* I also have memories of this same time period where my mom allowed me to "play bruja" - witch - by filling a pot in the sink and I would stand on a chair and concoct potions and tell her fanciful tales full of good-witch magic. Jajaja, even back then, I liked to tell stories.

I need octopus’ eight arms.

Image to left: Eight of Cups from the Motherpeace tarot deck by Vicki Noble.

I am in the process of taking an intensive course to get certified to teach card making with Altenew, a major paper crafts supply store. It is part of my long term plan to teach and share paper crafts and paintings; and sell classes, art etc online. You can view my card making and mixed media demonstrations here on You Tube. And you can follow my arts on VanGoghChica Studio. 

I also recently decided I want to write a memoir. I bought Microsoft Word and started with the opening pages. I told myself that I would still keep this blog up; I may pull content from this blog with a little editing. I had planned to devote three mornings to writing for my memoir. And I still wanted to keep this blog up and current.

Then, about a month ago, I came face to face with a metaphysical challenge. It was brought to my attention that I had a lot of sabotaging and negative energy directed towards me. And I was not shielding myself from negativity. I realized that I had lapsed in the maintenance of my altars in my home, my meditation practices and my daily spiritual practices of prayer, devotion and more. No wonder I felt destabilized. I knew I needed to work on honoring my spiritual practices more. So the universe answered my needs. Enter one of her synchronicities in my life.

A dear friend of mine in Louisville, Ky had referred me to a spiritual support group led by a dear friend of hers, Z!. I know Z!, from my facebook feed and from their leadership in the organzation, LSURJ. I did not interact personally much with them; but the more I have know about them, the more I have wanted to get to know them more. Z! has launched their coaching and consulting business. And they are running an eight week spiritual support group.

So, wow. Two things I have wanted to find. A jumpstart to strengthening my spiritual practice and fostering a spiritual community in my life. But the universe was gonna have to hit me over the head for me to recognize this beautiful synchronistic opportunity. When my friend asked Z! to reach out to me about their group; I poo poo'ed it thinking 'oh no, I can't move. I can't walk I won't be able to do grounding exercises'. I was fear based around my physical abilities or lack thereof. So I declined.

A month later, I received an email offer by Z! for a free sample session of the group. It was for people who wanted to know more about it so that they could see if it was for them. It then hit me that the universe (through Z!) was telling me 'You want spiritual development, you want spiritual community. Here is someone offering to help you with both. Someone you have wanted to get to know more. Someone whose work you respect.  Take the hand that is being outstretched to you, damn it!'  I answered that call. I am committing to taking part in this group.

So, I have a a lot of jugs of water to carry. My physical rehabilitation is paramount in my life. But I am now able to spend energy on non medical aspects of my life. as well.  I feel more whole with action steps in other life enriching areas of my life: my card making certification, new art channel and art blog and spiritual support group, working on my memoir manuscript, as well keeping up with this blog. So you can see why I am trying to channel the octopus' eight arms.

I am also experiencing a creative burst in painting and I am working on my seventh painting this month.

To paraphrase Mrs Whistledown (from Bridgerton Netflix series), "Dear gentle readers", be patient with me if I make fewer posts here. Know that I am actively producing other works. Visit me at VanGoghChica Studio blog and my VanGoghChica You Tube channel. And I hope to see you in my comments!