In late 2020, after more than forty years of confusion, ostracization, struggle, and a lifelong search for answers, I figured out I am on the autism spectrum. I am also diagnosed with ADHD, OCD, Major Depressive Disorder, Panic Disorder, and PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is too often part of the experience of being autistic. The modern world is a harsh place for the neurodivergent.

I do my best to be a good person and do what is right. Despite this, I have been called cruel things such as: asshole, crazy, psychotic, sociopathic, narcissistic, dishonest, lazy, selfish, rude, snappy, and even, yes — retarded.

Fortunately, for me, I can reflect upon these labels with amusement.

The cultivation of self-knowledge and a strong sense of identity removes the power of such labels. When you know who you are, you will not allow others to define you. Malignant and weak-minded people run from uncomfortable truths. They will attempt to destroy what they cannot either own or control.

Truth is the key that frees us from the prison of our past.

The truth is this: You are allowed to be different. You are not required to meet expectations that other people impose upon you. Someone is not automatically in the right because they are an authority figure, or present themselves as one. You are allowed to say, “No,” even when you feel something is expected of you.

If someone attempts to tell you who you are: run. Run, and never look back.

Your life is yours alone to live how you choose.

How did I get here?

Of particular interest to me is how my misdiagnosed and undiagnosed disabilities have impacted my schooling and employment history. It is possible that diagnosis and intervention in childhood could have steered me toward a more sustainable career path. Instead, my life has been punctuated by burnout and instability.

As a teenager, part of me unconsciously knew I was ill-suited for the college-to-desk-work career track. I come from a family of blue-collar labourers. My parents did me a disservice by not allowing me to take my high school’s auto shop class. I prefer working with my hands, and I enjoy machinery and problem-solving.

The intermingling of sexism (i.e. “that’s not for girls”) must also be mentioned. Having never felt “like a girl” in the first place, it requires forgiveness and careful mindfulness to avoid becoming bitter about the decisions made for me.

I believe I would have had a productive and satisfying life as a machinist, mechanic, or similar profession. When my “day job,” is tolerable, I have never minded concurrant traditional employment and self-employment. However, feeling it the “correct” thing to do, my parents forced me to enroll in my local community college. I was unable to attend my classes regularly, retain the material I was shown, and I dropped out after barely six weeks. I never returned.

My tumultuous employment history is made up of almost exclusively poorly-paying service jobs. I am a particularly bad fit for these jobs, which require me to camouflage my autistic traits and behave in ways that are extremely unnatural to me. The inevitable conclusion of prolonged masking for me is autistic burnout, chronic fatigue, recurrent severe depression, and suicidal ideation.

It is by creativity, luck, and resilience that I have survived.

What is autism?

Autism is a neurodevelopmental disorder that affects how an individual on the spectrum relates to other people and interacts with the world. Though there are common traits, each autistic person’s specific abilities and disabilities are unique. Autism is believed to be caused by a combination of environmental and genetic factors. There are controversial treatments available, but no cure.

Speaking for myself, I have significant difficulties with verbal and nonverbal communication, the ability to “read” people, over-stimulation and other sensory issues, repetitive behaviours, and executive function. This translates to problems being at my shifts on time, understanding what is expected of me, maintaining my focus, and interacting with customers, coworkers, and supervisors.

I typically last 1-2 years at full-time employment in these conditions before my mental health deteriorates and I enter a period of intense autistic burnout. I am part of an unfortunate group of people who are disabled, but not disabled enough for public assistance. With a little help, compassion, and minor accommodations, it is easily possible for someone like me to thrive. I want to work, after all.

I want to be able to do things for myself. Most adults want that.

Though diagnoses are increasing, it is my opinion that autism is historically under-diagnosed. It is my opinion that, like ADHD, autism is an uncommon but normal variation in human brain structure. The epidemic is the loss of non-service jobs, and alternative life paths, for people with atypical needs. The modern world was designed for a neurotypical brain, without time for other brains to adapt.

Instead of attempting to cure autism, especially in individuals with no cognitive impairments, we should be focusing on the positive characteristics and strengths of autism. Instead of autistic awareness, promote autistic acceptance.

Communicating directly and honestly benefits everyone.

What is having autism like?

For me, it is living in a state of confusion, distraction, and over-stimulation. Nearly everything that a neurotypical person takes for granted as easy or simple requires conscious thought for me. Even the most basic activities of daily living have an additional layer of complexity and energy-sapping frustration.

My sensory issues are primarily auditory. My brain lacks the ability to filter through sounds in the way that a neurotypical brain does. In any environment, my brains “hears” all audio at once, and at equal priority. The buzzing of a light bulb is perceived to be just as important as, for example, what is being said to me by a supervisor. A friendly dinner date in a noisy room becomes work.

Imagine yourself standing in a batting cage, and being pelted with balls by several pitching machines. The balls assaulting you, in my case, are sound. That is my daily experience when I am outside my apartment shopping, socializing, and working. Some days I can handle it. Some days it is overwhelming.

Often I can hear electricity in items such as phone chargers.

Conversations, music, television, and any other form of verbal language are particularly distressing to me. Being exposed to multiple layers of these sounds at once is almost unbearable. If I cannot leave such an environment quickly, I will lose the ability to regulate myself, and eventually shut down entirely.

I spend a lot of time in what you may consider silence, but it is not. The sounds of clocks ticking, birds calling, distant conversations, cars, sirens, and the other signs of life are ever-present. I am fond of fans and white noise generators.

Imagine holding down a job while coping daily with fight-or-flight.

What about the social impairments?

I have auditory processing issues that make it more challenging for me to comprehend speech. In the rare instances that I watch movies or television, I prefer to have captions or subtitles turned on. Seeing and reading the words helps me follow the narrative. I do poorly with only verbal instructions.

I have mild echolalia and palilalia. Frequently, I repeat myself when speaking, which can be annoying for the listener. I restate things said to me, to ensure that I have understood the speaker correctly. This is usually misinterpreted as me not paying attention, or mocking the speaker. My tone of voice, when I cannot actively modulate it, tends to sound disinterested and flat, or child-like.

I have a powerful need for the world around me to make sense. If a person tells me to “stop being lazy” or “stop lying,” and I know I am not being lazy or lying, I am unlikely to alter my behaviour. Why would I, when it makes no sense?

Like many autistic people, I can be obliviously blunt, and too honest.

I tend to miss sarcasm and nuance in spoken language, and to take statements literally. Communication with me needs to be clear, direct, and explicit. Conflicting and contradictory information causes me incredible distress. Struggling to resolve my observed reality, and what I have been made or told to believe, has been the root of nearly all my dysfunctional behaviour in the past. Gaslighting.

I was conditioned from childhood, including through the use of intimidation and violence, to ignore my own anxieties, intuition, and needs, and to always do what I was “supposed” to do instead. That one bit of programming has brought me immeasurable misery and pain. I was programmed to accept abuse.

Now I know better.

What am I bad at?

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. – Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”

Though I am writing about autism, I believe this applies universally.

It may seem counterintuitive, but in my opinion, honestly assessing your weaknesses is more vital to success than honestly assessing your strengths. Taking inventory of your strengths is an exercise in gratification of the ego. On the other hand, regularly reevaluating your own flaws and weaknesses is not a practice most people are comfortable with. This is one area where my autistic ability to be more analytical, detached, and logical has benefitted me.

I prioritize achieving the goals I desire, arriving at the correct answers and conclusions, and understanding how things work. This means easily admitting when I am wrong, adapting my views to accommodate new information, and attempting to view situations in the most objective manner possible.

Lying to yourself may be comforting, but it is ultimately self-destructive.

My autistic diagnosis made it easier for me to understand my disabilities and where my weaknesses lie. This, in turn, made it easier for me to understand how and why I most often fail. Understanding failure is the key to not repeating it.

It is also important to distinguish between your “fixed” and your “soluble” weaknesses. I can, for example, lift weights to gain physical strength. That is a soluble weakness. I cannot, however, magically grow six inches taller to reach a high shelf. That is a fixed weakness that requires accommodation or a separate tool. (I know these are not actually weaknesses like I intend. I hope you will accept these examples for the purpose of a clear, simple explanation.)

Resolve your soluble weaknesses, and work around your fixed weaknesses.

How does this play out in the real world?

For most of 2019, I was employed as an aide in assisted living facilities for seniors. I spent the majority of that time in memory care housing, working with advanced dementia patients. More recently in late 2021, I was employed as a personal care assistant to a physically disabled person in their home.

I genuinely enjoy being helpful, and I am unbothered by job duties such as cleaning up bodily fluids and bowel movement. However, these are some of the worst possible jobs I could have. Here are some concrete reasons why:

– Clients are often confused, confusing, and argumentative.
– Clients are more susceptible to misinterpreting autistic communication.
– Difficult for autistic caregiver to correctly interpret clients’ communication.
– Difficult for autistic caregiver to “read minds” to determine clients’ needs.
– Instructions and order of activities are often illogical.
– Unpredictable and often unexplained task-switching is required.
– Breaks and meal times are loosely enforced or neglected entirely.
– Nature of the job makes it impossible to establish any kind of routine.
– Environments with music, noise, televisions, and talking are over-stimulating.
– Poor boundaries and mutual loneliness can make the job emotionally taxing.
– Autistic people can be naive and easily taken advantage of by employers.
– Autistic people are more likely to be targets of bullying and abuse.

After a year of caregiving in 2019, I burned out so deeply and thoroughly that I am still not fully recovered. When my most recent employment situation became unhealthy and untenable for me, I made the effort to understand why. I now know that service jobs strike at nearly all of my fixed weaknesses.

I can, to an extent, mask my autism. It is exhausting and unsustainable.

What am I good at?

In November, I began the search for a new job. Based on my newly-acquired understanding of myself, I looked for jobs that would be most compatible with my strengths. I prioritized physical activity and repetitive tasks. I looked for jobs that could offer me the consistency, predictability, routine, and stability that I need. And I avoided jobs which centered on communication and social interaction.

My peak creativity and performance are achieved at the intersection of high physical fatigue and low mental fatigue. Burning off excess energy is essential to my sedentary creative work, and also restful, regenerative sleep. The more I am able to engage in the behaviours that feel natural to me, the lower my mental fatigue. Physical fatigue affects me little. Mental fatigue is debilitating.

“Natural” behaviours to me include sorting things and putting them into order, creating and organizing systems, pattern recognition, and problem-solving. I also need to feel comfortable enough to not continuously monitor and control my body language, tone of voice, words, etc. I need to feel safe enough to be myself.

Entry-level manufacturing or a warehouse position became my goal.

My new job is in a warehouse. My position, at its core, is extremely repetitive. Additionally, I have been given a large amount of autonomy to better organize and improve the efficiency of how my job is done. My supervisors have already noticed and complimented me on my improvements. I regularly log over 10k steps, lift and move objects, and do dozens of squats every shift.

My coworkers are mostly immigrants, who generally keep to themselves. Everyone is busy. Conversations are almost exclusively work-related. Expectations and goals are reasonable and well-defined.

I work the same hours, with the same breaks, on the same days.

Every week. Like clockwork.

So having autism means having the right job?

Maybe? Certainly, every job has its honeymoon phase, before the petty annoyances and grievances begin to set in. But I am confident that I have found the correct environment for me. The steady clacking and whirring of machinery is calming to me. The repetitive tasks that many would find mind-numbingly boring are similar to my self-soothing, stimming behaviours. No one cares or even notices how weird I am. No one cares if I hide away on my breaks.

My new employer asks about and makes accommodations for me. Small allowances can make an incredible difference in my mental health and quality of life. My new employer uses the correct pronouns when speaking to me. I do not have to defend or explain the traits of my autism, as if I choose to be autistic. Coworkers and supervisors are patient when I need things (re)explained.

I am no longer being accused of being a bad person, or being called undesirable things, because people can sense that I am different. It is validating to be treated like a whole person. It is good to feel safe enough to be authentic; to be myself. I feel appreciated, heard, and like my ideas and contributions have value. Because of that I feel accepted, and included, as well. I feel respected. I feel human.

At the end of each shift, I leave my job dirty and tired. I am also happy. And afterward, I return home able to enjoy the rest of my evening with my partner. As I adjust to the increase in physical activity, I am resuming my creative work. I am surrounded by supportive coworkers, family, and friends. My days and nights are filled with joy and love. I am poor. My life is not easy, but it is good.

In conclusion…

You cannot put a price on the value of knowing yourself.

I do not speak for all autistic people. I can write only about my own experiences. By doing so, perhaps others will consider new perspectives or gain insight.

The employment statistics for autistic adults are depressing. Many people with autism are truly unable to work. Or, like me, they may need a little help, but they are not disabled enough for public assistance. Additionally, there are an unknown number of undiagnosed autistic adults unemployed, underemployed, or barely hanging on. It is a depressing, discouraging, and invalidating place to be.

I am blessed to have carved a small niche for myself in the world.

My story is not inspirational. No one should have to live the life that I have.

For every “Jin Wicked” there are hundreds, if not thousands, of autistic adults who fall through the cracks. Everyone relishes a tale of triumph against the odds, but what about the rest? We are all deserving of dignity, regardless of our abilities and disabilities. We are all deserving of a life free from abuse and shame. And we are all deserving of the support needed to be live as independently as possible.

I am educating myself about resources such as the Autistic Self Advocacy Network and the ADA. A public list is available of books that I find helpful. I am learning about my legal protections and rights as an autistic person. No longer will I tolerate blaming, shaming, and bullying behaviours toward me.

I am different, but autism does not make me any less human.

I will continue to speak out for both myself and others.

To me, that is the correct and right thing to do.

Note: This post originally appeared on my previous blog at JinWicked.com. It has been republished here for archival and informational/reference purposes.

Dan and I were married in a small ceremony on 22 November 2021.

When I first entered my “early mid-life crisis” in late 2014 at age 34, all I knew was that something is not right, and that I desperately needed to figure out what. I began a years-long quest to understand who I am, what I am, and how I ended up in the condition that I did — deeply depressed, uninterested, unproductive, and nearly physically unrecognizable. For most of my life, I have struggled against the background noise of low-grade suicidal ideation, as well.

To recap: I got divorced, moved from Texas to Minnesota, and lost 70lbs.

As part of this quest, I reconnected with many people and lost places from my past in the search for answers. I needed, more than anything, to make sense of my life experiences and my memories. I sifted through the fragments, remnants, and in some cases, gaslighting, to uncover the truth. I carefully dissected all of my failed friendships and relationships, identifying the common elements.

In this way, over time, I was able to discern my own self-defeating cycles. That, combined with a growing awareness of what healthy friendships and relationships look like, enabled me to release the tremendous burden of undeserved guilt, self-blame, and shame that I had been carrying. A burden that was placed upon me by people invested in defining me, rather than allowing me to define myself.

I eventually found my answers, but they have come at substantial cost.

In early 2019, I was diagnosed with ADHD. In late 2020, I was diagnosed on the autism spectrum. With this fresh perspective and knowledge, I was finally able to work through the abuse, mischaracterization, misinterpretation, ostracization, trauma, and other mistreatment I have endured since I was a child.

I have always had an overwhelming desire to be good, but being bombarded by mixed messages from people with their own agendas, popular media, and society, has often left me confused and unsure what the right thing to do actually is.

I am honest-to-a-fault in a world where sincerity is a handicap.

While well-camouflaged due to my intelligence and sheer stubbornness, I am severely socially impaired. I have speech processing difficulties, auditory sensory issues, touch sensory issues, mild face-blindness, a degree of mind-blindness that I have to consciously counter, and I tend to take statements literally. I often miss hyperbole and sarcasm. Consistently contradictory information or instructions will generate unbearable anxiety, and eventually cause me to meltdown or shutdown. Over-stimulation will rapidly cause me to shutdown. I stim when agitated. I rely heavily on mirroring and elaborate internal “programs” or “scripts” to navigate social situations. Until beginning ADHD medication, I also struggled with impulsiveness and extreme executive function impairments.

Once the mechanics of how my brain works became clear to me, I could finally explain to myself why I created “Jin Wicked” in the first place, more than twenty years ago. I could finally unravel the layers of deliberate training and learned behaviours I adopted in an effort to pass as, I know now, neurotypical.

Inside — I could finally hear, see, and be, my authentic self.

In January and February of 2021, I underwent hysterectomy and double-mastectomy surgeries. Following my double-mastectomy, for the first time in my life, I looked into a mirror and I recognized my own reflection. Shortly afterward, I came out as agender/non-binary. The ever-present suicidal ideation stopped. Freedom and peace, unlike any I had ever known, overwhelmed me.

By this past summer, I had the experience and tools to recognize and exorcise the remaining toxic friendships and relationships from my life. I began focusing my social energy on the people who had shown, through their actions, that they truly cared about and wanted the best for me. I instituted a personal zero-tolerance policy for red flag behaviours directed at me or others.

I had done the hard work. I knew myself. I felt whole.

The reward for this was my Holy Grail: a true soulmate-type connection.

On 26 July, I was experimenting with gouache paints at my friend Mat’s art studio, when he told me about a friend of his who had miraculously survived falling from a three-story apartment roof. Mat spoke highly of his friend, while regaling me with the details of his long and complicated recovery process. I had no idea who Mat’s friend was, but I was moved by Mat’s intense concern.

An hour, or perhaps two, later, I met Dan for the first time when he suddenly appeared in the studio and sat down near me. He was carrying a duffle bag, and for reasons unknown, began slowly showing me the contents of the bag, including an old pair of bowling shoes and a paperback copy of Dante’s Inferno. It was only when he brought out a pill box and started explaining the many medications he was taking, that I realized this was the friend Mat had been describing.

The beginnings of our strange chemistry were noticeable upon that initial meeting, but at that time I had far too much going on. About a month passed before, one night, I messaged Mat to ask how Dan was doing, and share that I had been thinking about that copy of Inferno. Someone suggested that we hang out together at the studio again, and on 1 September, the six-year anniversary of my move to the Twin Cities, I picked up Dan and we passed the day getting to know each other a little. We rapidly learned that we had a lot in common.

One of the first things Dan did that day was hand me the most recent of his combination journals and sketchbooks to read. I sat and slowly went through it, cover-to-cover. I recognized his journey, pain, and struggles were similar to my own. I remembered what I had needed to hear and receive, but did not, when I felt like all hope was lost and I had no reason to go on. I did my best to offer him unconditional acceptance and a sense of safety. I was able to finish healing my own wounds by being the person I needed then, and did not have, for him.

While Dan’s journaling is not public like my art, blogging, or comics, we both communicate and deal with things in extremely similar ways. We connected on a level that neither one of us had experienced before. Of all the men I have known, Dan was the only one brave enough to hand over his heart in a book, show me his authentic self without any reservations or regrets, and say, “I trust you.”

I learn by mirroring people. Dan’s genuine vulnerability unlocked my own.

Within a couple of weeks, we were nearly inseparable.

I adore Dan, and think he is the handsomest feller I ever saw.

This is the first relationship I have ever been in where everything has felt easy, good, and natural, instead of awkward, emotionally unavailable, like pulling teeth just to communicate/get anything done, being taken advantage of, or worse. Even the best of my past relationships were avoidant or destined to fail.

Dan is a musician that dabbles in the visual arts. I am a visual artist that dabbles in the musical arts. Our creative energies fit together as smoothly as we did.

Dan read my books almost immediately after I gave him copies, and he enjoyed them. He is interested in my work, not feigning interest to get close to me. He is actively interested in participating in my projects and doing collaborative work with me; something I specifically decided I wanted back in 2015.

Dan treats me like a whole person with my own hopes and desires; not arm candy, a fixer-upper project, his personal property, or a trophy to be fought over and bragged about. Dan treats me like an equal partner; not a status symbol to attach himself to, a meal ticket, or an accessory. Dan is not using me as a “second chance” at failed ambitions. Dan never tells me what to do.

Dan celebrates and supports my successes. He is not envious or jealous.

Dan is understanding of the fact that I am autistic, and he is mindful of my communication and sensory issues. He does not treat me cruelly, humiliate me, shame me, or attempt to convince me I am broken, sick, unwell, etc. when I act like an autistic person. He does not try to diagnose me or define who I am.

Dan does not make me feel like I have to camouflage or hide my autistic traits and act “normal,” which is exhausting and eventually leads to autistic burnout. He does not “punish” me for stimming, or self-soothing behaviours, like other people have in the past. He lets me be me. As a result, my anxiety levels with him have always been non-existent. Individuals who trigger my anxiety have become an automatic red flag. Healthy social interactions do not trigger my anxiety.

Dan listens to me, and puts in the effort to understand the intention or meaning behind my communication, instead of twisting my words to fit a biased — usually bitter, cynical, and negative — interpretation. Rather than assuming the worst and reacting with anger or indignation, he allows me to explain myself.

Dan makes sure I understand him correctly, and is always willing to help me when I am confused. Dan’s actions match his words; he is consistent. He never undermines my sense of stability by, for example, saying and promising nice things, and then denying them or acting passive-aggressively toward me.

Dan accepts who I am, and what I feel I need to do, without any judgement.

While our interests are not 100% the same — that would be boring — we are alike and compatible in all the ways that matter. Even our few disagreements or misunderstandings have been undramatic and resolved without any lasting hurt. We are both compassionate, inquisitive, easy-going, playful, “giving” types.

We have an uncanny amount of overlap in the kind of — mostly creative and sometimes outdoorsy — activities we both enjoy, and now share with each other. We do things together. We make things together. We learn things together. We draw and write notes for each other, now, in Dan’s sketchbook journals.

Dan has a large, loving family that has welcomed me with open arms. I was as instantly, unusually comfortable with them as I was with Dan. I know it cannot be easy watching Dan reclaim his independence following his accident, and I am humbled and honoured by the trust his parents are showing in me.

Dan and I are both committed, and doing the hard work, to grow and improve ourselves. Dan and I are both committed to the goal of thriving — together.

Whatever planet I am from, Dan is from at least the same solar system.

Sometimes, I confess, it is still difficult to see myself as worthy of this pure kindness, love, and peace. The roots of being browbeaten to feel defective and unlovable run deep. Teaching oneself how to distinguish and nurture a healthy relationship is a monumental task. But it gets easier. And it is worth it.

Days before she died of metastatic breast cancer in 2010, during her final hospital stay, and in one of her last moments of consciousness and lucidity, my mother tried to stand — clutching at me and desperately crying that she wanted to live to see my wedding day. It was extremely awkward, as I had no desire, nor plans, to be married at the time. I never wanted a “wedding” or its cookie-cutter “traditions.” I had no interest in any of the ceremony or the circus of it. (My first marriage, which did happen shortly afterward, was painfully utilitarian.) It was not until meeting Dan that I understood why this ritual matters to people.

When Dan suggested the night of 20 November that we elope the following Monday, my first thought was, “What took so long?” My second thought was, “The person for me is definitely the one crazy enough to suggest we elope after barely three months, when we almost immediately felt like an old married couple that has been together for ages. And then do it.” He was positively giddy.

We both did the “date your future spouse for years first,” and, well, neither of those worked out. By your early 40s, I feel, you know what you want — and you are entitled to act on it. Neither one of us has much to potentially lose, except time. Overwhelmingly, we have received almost nothing but support.

I, curiously, already had a dress, which was purchased by a weird compulsion earlier in the summer before I met Dan. Everything else came together in a little over a day. We were married at the “Chapel of Love” in the Mall of America, which is absolutely absurd, delightfully cheesy, and quite perfectly incongruous for two unrepentant weirdos — and broke, anti-consumerists — of our sort.

I wore my mother’s pearl necklace, and a choker made of tuxedo agate and river shell beads that I strung a few hours before our wedding to match it. I assembled my bouquet of silk sunflowers, red cabbage roses, and ivory ribbon. Sunflowers have been a symbol of hope and perseverance for me since moving to Minnesota, and red roses are a reference to the Rose from my favourite book, “The Little Prince,” in addition to being a symbol of love.

Being with Dan has felt like finally coming home to the place, and family, where I belong. I am exactly where I should be, and I could not ask for more.

Dan and I are both looking forward to a very, very uneventful and very, very quiet life of shared artistic and creative pursuits, baking and cooking, gardening, love, music, peace, and small adventures. We are currently navigating the steps necessary to get Dan’s vehicle back on the road safely, so that he can gradually ease back into working, when he is ready. We make an awesome team.

I cannot wait to begin building our life together.

Note: This post originally appeared on my previous blog at JinWicked.com. It has been republished here for archival and informational/reference purposes.

Greetings, friends! Rumours of the demise of “Jin Wicked” have been greatly exaggerated! I am navigating a period of transformation and transition as I enter the next phase of my life. In many ways, I feel as if my real life is just beginning. I am upgrading my studio for the return of my sidekick Trashy, along with new blogs and videos. As a result, I am taking a step back from social media and writing. Temporary withdrawal is a necessary part of my creative process.

I am continuing to read and learn about autism following my diagnosis in late 2020. I am still exploring the ways in which it has effected and shaped my life. Specifically, I want to better understand my strengths and weaknesses.

Above all, I want to hone my skills and live up to my potential.

Here is a quick look at some of the new art, crafts, and photos I have been working on! To see all of my work-in-progress, including new illustrations, as well as access my commission and sketch card waitlists, please consider subscribing to my Patreon for as little as $1 per month. Patreon makes my work possible. Subscribers also have access to patrons-only personal and project updates.

“Jin Wicked,” Dan Bateman, and Ben Cooper

I am pleased to announce my personal and professional partnership with Dan Bateman, pictured below. He has his own incredible and inspiring story to tell. I am looking forward to introducing him to you through my work over time. Dan is a musician first and foremost. Because of this, he brings a new dimension to my ongoing multimedia projects. You can listen to several of his albums here.

My relationship with Dan has renewed my own sense of drive, inspiration, and purpose. We are exploring the ways in which our work can be combined and interwoven in the future. The possibilities feel endless!

“There [they] [go]. [Two] of God’s own prototypes. [Two] high-powered mutants of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.” – Hunter S. Thompson, sorta.

In addition to my partnership with Dan, I have been collaborating more with my good friend, and Twin Cities-based photographer, Ben Cooper. Ben’s work focuses primarily on Minnesota landscapes and landmarks. Some of his most well-known images are breathtaking, starry night skies over Lake Superior’s North Shore.

Although it is not his usual fare, Ben works with me to create portraits that capture my vision of atmosphere, personality, and fashion.

What is next?

Now, what does the future have in store for “Jin Wicked?”

In the coming months and years, I have planned for release at least one hardcover art and illustration picture book, new webcomic collections in print, a poetry book featuring my floral illustrations and photography, and possibly a cook book with my favourite cookie recipes! I also anticipate more experimentation with music, video, and time-lapse as I continue to test my own limits.

I am full of replenished energy, and bursting with ideas!

Note: This post originally appeared on my previous blog at JinWicked.com. It has been republished here for archival and informational/reference purposes.