When the circus outside becomes too chaotic and unhinged, make your own. As I pivoted out of the fog of 2024, my soul finally bleated out like an angry goat, ‘That’s enough! Take off those ill-fitting clothes! Whose idea was it to dress in ropes and compression bandages? I can’t breathe!” So I picked up a guitar and started writing songs. After 20 years of encouraging others to “Make Art Anyway,” I allowed myself to heed the same advice. I am only here now, of sounder heart and mind, because of a stringed instrument disguised as Cupid’s arrow. This constricted, restless soul of mine exhorts me to tend to those things that bring delight, healing and humor even in the darkest places. Thusly, you’ll find me mostly here. Raw, improvisational, unplugged. As always, I welcome my fellow clowns, chanteurs, lion-tamers, magicians, and aerialists of the heart. Wherever you are, I want to hear your song. Maybe there is a circus to create together. --Lisa Fitzhugh