OCTOBER 13, 2015 by Jordan Terra
Tumbleweeds dance across acres of dirt–a barren windswept landscape. Nestled amongst sagebrush, shaded by high-desert clouds, our quaint family home in the desolate Northern Nevada town of Fallon was neighbored only by rattlesnakes and wild turkeys. Being born creative helped stave off the boredom that would have inevitable ensued had I not had an imagination in that tiny town, but those same bleak boondocks had a hand in creating the person I am today.
Lacking internet connection and basic cable, my childhood was full of day long treks across the countryside. To most, that seemingly uninhabited landscape was a depraved and lonely sight, to me; however, it was vibrant and colorful, teaming with life and constant adventure. Instead of a monotone plane of dust covered sagebrush and dirt, I saw a rainbow forest with brilliant dancing colors that leaped and twirled around me. I spent hours amongst the weeds, prancing with the vivid prints that the shrubbery became in my head.
My grandparent’s ranch was one in the same–30 acres of pure magic. Jungle gyms of broken down farm equipment–belly dump trucks as slides, rusty chains as swings, and hay bales as climbing frames. Everything, actually a combination of rusty reds and dull browns, were multitudes of colors in my eyes. The world was a spattering of rainbow patterns that constantly leapt from the scenery and frolicked in front of me.
My grandparent’s house was full of eclectic trinkets from years of collecting, but the long narrow stairwell where my brother, cousins, and I used to sled down on plastic bin lids, led to the most magical realm of all, the basement. Stashed in a corner was my grandma’s sewing station complete with antique thread cabinet. I remember running my hands across it for hours in awe of its energy–closing my eyes, those same flashy hues swirled around me, morphing and vibrating with an intensity I had never felt before.
Years later in Reno, Nevada, fighting off the frigid air blowing down from the vast Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, a ragtag group of societal misfits huddled together for warmth awaiting the opening of the venue doors. All eager to hide from the cold and embrace the night, they swarmed the entrance. From inside a faint noise grew louder and louder until it encompassed the gang in bass which vibrated the ground beneath them, the wall behind them, and the air surrounding them. Barricaded by music, the mob started to pulse with the beat, subtle at first, but growing in intensity the louder the music got until the whole throng of multicolored ravers were pounding their feet. Almost as if their dancing created an invisible momentum that pummelled the door, it swung open allowing the crowd to sprint towards the dance floor.
I was amongst those first few who stormed the gates of the Speakeasy Convention Center. I can still feel the excitement as I stood in the middle of the empty dance floor watching as rainbow clad ravers packed the venue. I remember staring in awe at the bizarre, colorful clothing that everyone adorned themselves in. I had just turned 14, and knew nothing of the world outside of Fallon. Although I was only in Reno, I felt as though I had stepped onto another planet. Finally, the dancing technicolor patterns and prints that lept through my head my entire life made sense, and all of it, in that moment, morphed into fashion–my head exploded.
That night changed my life forever. The very next day, I dug through my clothing and started cutting up and altering things. Being born creative, I used my imagination to create worlds around me, and fill my head with vibrant prancing prints. Growing up in a small town forced me to use that creativity everyday–if I hadn’t, I would have surely been bored to death. My grandma’s sewing prowess was a constant form of awe as a child, but being introduced to underground fashion at a young age made me realize my destiny. From there, my addiction has grown and consumed my life. Now, I no longer have to dream of those moments surrounded by rainbow fashion, because I am constantly encased in a layer of it.