the-dowe-of-jain

[the-dowe-of-jain]

Being a burlesque entertainer is kinda like putting on the impression of being more expensive than the prince of Saudi Arabia while simultaneously being happy when you know you can afford food.

[the-dowe-of-jain]

[the-dowe-of-jain]

A sign every artist and crafter should have on their site and window.

When I get my site up and running I’m putting this on the Commission/Payment page.

[the-dowe-of-jain]

Do it anyways.

I didn't get to where I am today by listening to people. I didn't allow people to tell me what to do or where to go. I got to where I am today by telling people to Fuck the Right Off. By saying Watch Me. By saying Fuck You Pay Me. I burned bridges. I pissed people off. I hurt feelings. But you know what? When people told me that I couldn't do it, that it wasn't possible, that I was crazy, that they'd have no part of it - I. Did. It. Anyways.

And here we are. Four years after launching my flagship event, Apothecary Raree. I've grown into one of the biggest and most successful venues I've partnered with yet. I have a team. I have a following. I have a community. I am supported.

And you know what? I'm still saying the same things. Watch Me.

And at the end of the day, it's all still me.

Now, I have found respect. I have found collaboration. I have found synergy. That doesn't mean it's easy. It's still fucking hard as shit. But I still do it. Why? Because I have to. It's that kind of thing where your soul tells you it's right. That it HAS TO happen. No matter what. This is what needs to be done, and it will happen.

And it has.

With that in mind, my lovers and friends, strangers and passersby, follow your spirit. Follow your hyperfocus. Follow that voice inside of you that says DO IT with all of your burning passion. Listen to that anxiety deep in your core that fears failure, that fears things not working out, that fears people not listening to you, to losing respect. You know why? Because it will probably happen, and you will need to steel your will against it. Let the fire in your belly burn. Get mad. Get even.

Success is the best revenge.

You are loved.

[the-dowe-of-jain]

[the-dowe-of-jain]

What is it like? Living in the Covidpocalypse as a full time entertainer?

As a professional dancer, burlesque performer, registered carnie, event producer, and talent booker, I have seen the live entertainment industry as a whole come to a screeching halt. Everything is either canceled or “Postponed” - a euphemism for “We don’t know when the fuck we’ll be able to do this now, if ever again.”

It feels like we are all dead in the water, and Covid-19 is holding the shotgun.

I, personally, have had multiple losses in this crisis. Several gigs, events, and festivals on a local, national, and even international scale have been pulled out from underneath us. The loss of income is monumental - I literally have zero work ahead of me, and am scrambling like everybody else to shift gears and adapt to this new digital environment that has no tangible end in sight. What? Patreon? Zoom? PayPal? GoFundMe? Satan’s Asshole on a Pogo Stick, this learning curve is getting steep.

...

Emotionally, this leaves me feeling like a werewolf. One minute, I’m fine. Cheery, hanging out with the housemates, drinking wine and chilling on massive doses of CBD. Next thing I know I’m holed up in my room, with the very thought of interacting with anybody giving me a deep sense of dread and sheer terror. For Hell’s sake, don’t knock on my door, call me, or even think of coming near me. I’m not okay.

I’ve always been good at isolating, for better or for worse. My bedroom is my crazy artist cave. I walk in there, and I exhale, knowing that I am in a purely judgement-free zone. I can pick up my guitar and pluck away at its strings, no matter how bad it sounds. I can sit on my folded up futon and with a blank mind stare at the t-shirts hanging out of my dresser for as long as I like. I can even get stoned out of my gourd, have an anxiety attack, and curl up on my still folded up futon, playing stupid games on my phone until I pass out with my clothes on. It just simply doesn’t matter.

If a Jain falls and nobody is around to see it, did it really happen?

...

At the end of the day, I’m exhausted, but my creative juices are pulling me through. I know my family is here for me, I’m here for me, my friends are here for me, and my lovers are here for me. Although my community and industry seems to be drifting aimlessley like ghost ships in the night, I know that some day soon captains will re-emerge from the depths of the sea with sirens in tow. Sailors, still slick with seaweed and mermaid scales, will climb the sides of their ships to steer them home, where we all eagerly await at the water’s edge.