The Jelly Bean Project

The Jelly Bean Project has been a very long process, birthed during my time living in New York City, which I left 18 years ago.

There are so many layers and threads—metaphysical, physical, and literal. I am but a conduit to get some kind of story or message across in this abstract fashion.

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When I first moved to New York, I was constantly in awe—blown away by the scenes I saw on every street corner. I was mesmerized by all the different types of people walking the streets, holding their heads high and smiling while saying hello or: “Hi,” or “How you doing?” I was no longer holding my head to the ground, keeping my eyes averted. The grey skies in London encouraged that.

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I also noticed the boundless choices available to me as an intrigued consumer.

Needless to say, my world opened up.

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I had been a bit of a nightclub girl in London prior. I would go alone and not talk to anyone, but enjoy the pounding music—which I suppose put me in some kind of euphoric or tranced state. Consequently, in New York I became an after-party girl, an art opening enthusiast, and someone who wandered late at night in heels, going wherever the crowds would take me.

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I became hyper-aware of how accessible sex was at any time of day or night—with anyone who had a desire, a fetish, or just a need for a lonely hookup. I noticed there were “back rooms” at many venues where more illicit behaviors would occur. I never really thought about how these things made me feel at the time—I was merely a spectator. I frequented gentlemen’s clubs. Sometimes to deliver food as a waitress, and other times I would just end up there in the early hours of the morning with friends after parties had died down.

 

Those visits were quite impactful and have stayed with me until now.

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Choice on this level was something I had never experienced before.

In a coffee shop, I would be overwhelmed and often irritated. I just wanted a simple instant coffee with milk—but the many boards on the walls had excessive selections. So many styles: a frappe, an Americano, latte, cappuccino, shot, decaf, half-decaf, half-caffeine, bold, light, medium, and so on.

 

Onto the food. A quick trip to Texas—I ordered a baked potato, thinking it was a side dish to accompany a steak.

A serving platter arrived with the biggest potato I had ever seen and several fillings on smaller plates. Surely this was not the norm? Alas, yes. I started to note it was becoming the new normal.

 

Back to NYC.

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I love movie dates.

When I first arrived in NYC, I never wanted to visit the movies alone, and for some reason I always associated them with romantic dates. I went on a date with a boyfriend who was very health-conscious, so I didn’t feel comfortable ordering any type of refreshment—except perhaps a bottle of water. I found a seat in the dark auditorium and out flashed in front of me a humongous bucket of popcorn. I had never seen anything like it. I could not even consider how any single person could consume something of that density.

 

However, the smell of the melted artificial butter was something else.

Almost euphoria came upon me.

What was going on? I was salivating.

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It took me a number of years beyond that date to try a small “tub” of popcorn—and boy, was I hooked. I developed a ritual, now alone, of going to the movies in the middle of the day. I would purchase a little wee popcorn—still sufficient—and enjoy the experience of being at a movie screen, immersed in sensory overload. Butter included.

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Fast-forward to today. It is no longer normal for me to go to a movie theater and not buy popcorn. I’ve inherited a little bit of the culture.

 

I was coming to the end of an era, I believe. Around 2003. I got a little piece of paper handed to me at an opening at a large, renowned gallery. There was an after-party. The paper had an address written on it. I will not name the artist who had just had a show. I do know what I was wearing: my favorite red snakeskin shoes, a pink floral semi-precious chiffon dress with an ivory slip underneath, and a little red cardigan.

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I traveled there with a boyfriend at the time, and a roommate later appeared in a limousine with a music icon—and another music icon, who decades later is still very present in my life:

Garrison Hawk.

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The party was just the epitome of excess.

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Within seconds, a man walked up to me and wanted to look at my feet inside my shoes.

The artist who was being celebrated was providing the narcotics. Children were running around. The food was simple—bangers and mash—and I found that very interesting. Welcoming, also.

 

It was way too much excess for me in a single event. I could barely hold a conversation with anyone and I shrank into my mashed potatoes and could not wait to leave. Alcohol helped me get through the night. Celebrities were introduced to me but weren’t interested, as I was not a relevant person to them at the time. Models floated around with the said celebrities—who appeared far more sincere than the arms they were clinging to. Kind faces giving me at least… something.

 

Everything seemed a little distorted. We were celebrating an artist’s work, but that idea seemed to not be present. I know there were some very “important” people in the art world, but it seemed sheer debauchery was taking over.

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This was my turning point.

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I am very grateful I exchanged information with Garrison. Garrison looked as uncomfortable as I was—we were not flashing ourselves around. I learned he was a music hall artist and had a beautiful voice and very cheeky dimples.

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For me, jelly beans had not been present in my life until my time in NYC.

 

I later learned the thought is that they originated from a Turkish Delight and a Jordan Almond from France, made for the royal courts. The earliest known reference appeared in the late 1800s. They first appeared in Boston in 1861 as a promotion for sending candies to soldiers during the Civil War. President Reagan put them on the map in a much larger way, as it was known he used them to help quit smoking in the 1960s.Today, the humble jelly bean is considered as American as apple pie. For me, it’s most definitely a cultural representation.

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So to me, over the years, the jelly beans have represented—enveloped, if you will—all of my experiences during my years in NYC. The sex industry, the food industry, the parties, and in turn, the loneliness. The representation of eternal choices. Never being satisfied within. The emptiness I often felt. So many wonderful, colorful experiences. Yet I often felt naked and raw.

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The bikini popped into my head late one night, and I have had to travel to different countries, take a step back, immerse myself in rural locations for years, give birth to a child, and spend time raising her to finally reach the point where the jelly bean bikini is materializing.

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Literally. I realized so much more by having taken a step back and understanding myself—and how those experiences affected me.

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Now for the research.

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I am not a fashion designer, but when it comes to creative projects, I am somewhat of a perfectionist.​ I did not enlist help to do the making. I did enlist a couple of friends to help figure out the statistics of creating a wearable item with sticky yet solid candies. There turned out to be many options for how to put it all together.

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I’ve wanted this piece to remain edible and accessible to a viewer. I wanted to be one hundred percent truthful to the experience and integrate as much depth as possible. I very happily reconnected with Garrison and his wonderful talent—also raw, sensitive, and sensual.

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It was suggested I use super glue or a bikini base to stick the beans to. I have not wanted to do that. This is raw, and, if possible, I want the experience in my presentation to be unrefined and honest. I suppose I want to re-enact a little of the events and scenes I witnessed while living in NYC.

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I have sewn the beans by hand with help from a thimble and through a lot of trial and error. Temperature in my studio has been vitally important. Do I use a fridge? Yes!

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My hand temperature has also been relevant. It is a very long-winded process, and sometimes I’ve only been able to sew for 15 minutes. I have trialed different lacquers and nail polishes to keep the colors vibrant. Finally, it is being completed… decades later.

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I have written a piece of prose—spoken word—that Garrison and I can relate to and share with the bikini.

I have enlisted a dancer and model to work organically and freely with me, moved by the words and music that we’ve put together. It is my hope that she will be dancing with excess jelly beans—where, if people want to, they can touch, feel, or eat from them. There will be a bodyguard in place for her. Another parallel from my prior life.

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I originally thought I would wear the bikini, but this is becoming a greater concept, and I am focusing on the event—where I can keep the integrity of the piece intact.

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I am very grateful to the people who have helped me verbalize this concept into fruition, and I’m excited to share the experience when the time comes.