The Art of Ripping Yourself Apart (On Purpose)

I tore up a photo of myself the other day.

Not because I didn’t like it. Not out of judgment or shame. I liked the photo, actually. It was one of those rare moments when I looked at myself and thought, 'Yeah. That’s me.’ And still—I ripped it to pieces.

It started as an art project. A portal piece I was working on. Something about stepping into the next version of myself, leaving behind what no longer fits. I needed a little magic, a little personal symbolism. So I reached for a photo, and there I was, staring back.

The Pause Before the Rip

And then came the pause—that internal flutter of hesitation.

Am I really going to rip up my face?

It felt wrong somehow, as if I were breaking some unspoken rule. We don’t tear up photos. We preserve them. Protect them. Frame them in albums and pass them down to future generations. Tearing one felt like tearing into something sacred.

And yet, that’s exactly why I did it.

Because this part of me—this version of me—was ready to be reshaped, reimagined, and woven into something new. I wasn’t destroying anything. I was creating space. For something deeper. For something true.

And Then There’s Bono

It reminded me of a time years ago when Bono pissed me of—yes, that Bono—for spray-painting a public fountain in San Francisco. It was a modern art piece, and he tagged it during a concert. People brushed it off as edgy. But I was mad. You don’t mess with someone else’s creation like that.

I think about that moment often when I’m making art, especially this kind of soulful, intuitive art. I don’t destroy masterpieces. But I do tear things up. Books. Old journal pages. Photos of myself. Because sometimes, that’s what transformation looks like. Not preservation, but reinvention.

A Different Kind of Self-Portrait

When I tore up that photo, destruction wasn’t my goal. I wasn’t erasing myself. I was reclaiming her. Giving her a new place in my story. Letting her be part of something evolving.

That’s the kind of art I love most. The kind that isn’t about how it looks, but how it feels. The kind that stirs something real inside you. That lets you say the things you haven’t said, feel the things you’ve buried, even helps you become the version of yourself that’s waiting just beyond the edge of now.

So yes, I tore up my face so it could be a part of something bigger. And it was healing. Beautifully, strangely healing.

Your Quiet Uprising

And if you’re craving that kind of shift—the kind that comes from making something personal and messy and sacred—then I’d love for you to join me this weekend.

I’m hosting an online gathering called The Quiet Uprising of Spring. It’s not a formal how-to class, and it’s definitely not your typical Zoom. It’s a ritual—a creative circle. A space to slow down, connect with what’s stirring inside you, and make something that honors the change you’re ready for.

We’ll be using photos, collage, and a bit of guided reflection to make a visual spell for the season ahead. No art experience is needed, just a willingness to begin.

The Quiet Uprising of Spring
Saturday, April 26 | 12–2 PM ET | $45 | Zoom

You can sign up here.

(Psst. paid subscribers, don’t forget your discount code! It’s in the chat)

Let’s tear things up, in the best possible way.

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