Butterfly J. River
Her age is unknown, but forever a hippy after watching a Woodstock documentary film at the age 5 with her aging parents on a homemade futon from the 60’s. Accidentally transplanted in the unusual town of Gulfport, she became immersed in the whimsical, eclectic population of the little community, a place where people walked dogs, hairless cats, chatty parrots and spotted goats. Butterfly is easily recognizable wandering about on warm afternoons, covered in flowered tattoos, wearing rose colored glasses with matching hair and always, always accompanied by at least two of her growing family of lazy, green, chubby geckos. Welcome to Gulfport.
Tall, golden, her hem encased in memories from old postcards. Adorned with precious stones gathered from a quiet beach in Spain. Seems like a life time ago.
Tall Bottle Pod Goddess , or so she calls herself.
She consists of paper, clay, old silk curtains, made in USA dulled scissors and
bottle tree pods I harvested from an Arizona backyard.
A tall tribe of three, paper mache, clayshay, polymer clay, colored pencils, paint, fun.
Velda, sits each afternoon on her large, shaded porch, holding court with a cold glass of sweet tea, two cats at her feet, and a random bird on her shoulder. Velda dresses in pieces of silk and lace scraps, woven with the memories she gathered of ancestors and their scandals. She can recite each stitch, bead and color with fine detail. “They were such rascals” she says with a smile.
Dolores, full of salacious escapades, of which she’ll happily share with anyone over a glass of chilled vodka. She runs from the passing of time with bright red hair and all shades of eye shadow. Garish is not a word she’ll tolerate.
Geneve, named herself, wasn’t always a mermaid, but found there weren’t many choices for one so slinky and long. She’s comfortable in cool waters or coiled on a warm rock and happy with the simple choices a mermaid needs to make.