I'm a failure.
In April 2024, I watched two men walk on treadmills for far too long. The concept was funny—a creative duo working out the idea for their new show while literally working out—but in practice, it was grueling and absurdly torturous. Billed as an idea that hadn’t quite found its legs, stumbling so spectacularly that the floundering became the idea.
I planned to stay for a few minutes. Instead, I was there for all three days. I couldn’t look away. I became invested, not just in the performance but in their wellbeing. They set a goal, further complicated it, and stubbornly pushed through—but to what end? It was all manufactured, and yet, people cared. Strangers brought them drinks and food, asked how they could help, and lingered. It became a gathering place, a spot for people to reunite with friends or simply share the bizarre experience together. Its very existence drew people in, not because of what it was, but because it was happening at all.
“Why are you doing this?” we asked. They didn’t have a clear answer, but I understood.
It’s better than not doing it.
That moment planted the seed for FAILFEST—a performance series documenting my repeated failure to achieve my dreams. This project is a trick. I am tricking myself into making art again. I am setting myself up for failure so that everything feels like a success. I am showing people the mess, and hoping that it evolves into something I’m proud of.
The pitch is a trick, but as I’ve turned the idea over in my head, I realized what I truly want is to make space where we can all explore failure together. To let go of perfection and do it in community.
So here I am, embarking on an eight-part performance series running from January to October. My goals are simple: get out of my own way and support other freaks who want to do the same.
The performances are secondary to the process. I’ll host open studio hours in my backyard shed for anyone to work on whatever they want. I’ll organize workshops where we’ll tackle our creative challenges with new strategies. I’ll talk with folks from the Austin community about their relationships with failure. And yes, I will fail. That’s the point.
If you’re unsure what this will look like, you’re not alone. I have a container, and I’m running with it before I overthink it.
For updates on how to attend or get involved, follow me here or on Instagram at @fail_fest. To help make this dream a reality, donate to the project’s Venmo.
We’ll culminate in a festival featuring as many artists as I can convince (likely through shameless begging) to showcase work they consider failures. Celebrate it. Revel in it. Surprise yourself by continuing, even when your gut says you’re not good enough. Because that voice doesn’t matter.
Let it be bad. Just let it be.
See you on the other side.
FAIL:NETWORK
February 1
FAIL:SPACE
March 2
FAIL:DINNER
March 30
FAIL:HIKE
May 1-4
FAIL:SEX
July 27
FAIL:SKATE
August 31
FAIL:FEST
October 11