A Neurospicy experience
This entry is a reflection on a struggle I think a lot of us creatives face, especially those of us who are neurospicy (aka: neurodivergent henceforth known as neurospicy around here.) For me, it often comes down to this tension between wanting to be deeply immersed in my art and the reality that to “make it” as an artist, I need to talk about it, too.
My art and the work I do around sex and body positivity is an all-consuming passion that pulls at me every moment—when I’m not physically painting, I’m thinking about painting. When I’m not educating and excited about that I want to be expressing the female form.
My studio is my safe haven, a place where I can shut out the noise of the world and let the colors, textures, and shapes do the talking.
But once I’m out of that studio and trying to share my work, I often feel like I’m being asked to switch gears entirely.
Suddenly, I’m supposed to talk about my art, to tell my story, and to make connections with others, all while hoping the work resonates and finds a place in the world. Some days, that’s exciting. I love when people ask questions, engage, and appreciate the art on a level deeper than the surface. Those are the moments that can feel magical, like my work is reaching beyond me and creating its own ripples in other people’s lives.
But honestly, there are days when it’s incredibly hard. Being “out there” means exposure—not just of the work, but of me, my process, my quirks, my vulnerabilities.
There are moments when I feel like I’m just the “weird girl in the corner”. Who has to wear headphones just to drown out the sound of people walking by. Especially in a room full to the brim of people selling their wares and no one is talking to you or approaching your art.
And that disconnect? It can be incredibly lonely and anxious.
Even when people are kind and try to be understanding, there are times when it feels like I’m speaking a different language, and it can feel incredibly isolating.
You want people to see and value the art for itself, not always to have to dig into the layers of your personal experience. Yet, as much as I’d love my work to simply “speak for itself,” I know the reality: art today often comes with a story, with a bit of personal interaction, with a part of yourself laid bare.
Being an artist isn’t just about creating; it’s about sharing those creations in a world that often requires connection, small talk, and selling not just the art but also yourself as an artist. And it’s complicated for me, as someone living with both ADHD and autism, to balance the internal world of creativity with the external world of sharing and selling.
But maybe that's also why I keep creating, because the art itself can communicate what words sometimes can’t. ISo, if there’s a takeaway from this, it’s that life as an artist, especially one with AUDHD—is layered and nuanced. and that understanding social queues is fucking hard, exhausting and overwhelming.
This is for all the “weird ones in the corner” who are just trying to find a little peace while sharing the pieces of themselves that are raw and sometimes still bleeding.
Writing about this, I don’t have a grand solution to share, nor am I looking for sympathy. Instead, I just want to express a bit of what it’s like to navigate the art world as a neurospicy individual. Some days, I find strength in knowing that my unique perspective enriches my work. Other days, I’m just trying to make it through without feeling like an outsider.
To those who resonate with this experience, whether you’re neurospicry or not, know that you’re not alone in the struggle to find your place. And if you’re not, I hope that sharing a bit of my journey might help you see a new perspective on what it’s like to create and exist in a world that can often feel overwhelming.
XOXO,
Tiffany