What if the most radical act of self-love looked like a vintage candy store?

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For over a decade, I've been shredding my life. Not metaphorically—literally. Love letters that once defined my worth. Report cards that measured me in numbers. Diary pages documenting decades of body shame. Documents, photographs, and objects that told a story I no longer wanted to carry.

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Every piece of paper, every fragment, every scrap went into the shredder. And then I started collecting what came out.

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Kristine's Sweet Shoppe of Liberation is where all of it lands. Behind the pink-and-white striped walls and vintage charm, behind the nostalgia of an old-fashioned candy counter, lies 52 years of carefully curated chaos—shredded, sorted, and packaged as "liberation blends" in acrylic vitrines.

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Each 3x3x3 inch cube contains fragments of identity: shredded CD inserts from a music collection lost 15 years ago, painted Yogurtland spoons that mark my eating disorder recovery journey, cut-up wigs from experiments with appearance and self-presentation, transparencies from old presentations, love letters that once meant everything. The walls themselves become part of the work—a Pattern-on-Wall installation that turns the entire space into a virtual candy store, an explosion of color and joy.

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This is Fluxus meeting confectionery. The mundane elevated to art. Process prioritized over product. Destruction made precious.

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The Sweet Shoppe is participatory social practice art. When you encounter a liberation blend, you're not just looking at a pretty object. You're witnessing a collaboration in dismantling barriers. You're seeing the radical act of taking up space made tangible. You're experiencing proof that what we destroy can become more valuable than what we keep.

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The work asks questions I'm still figuring out: What do we hold onto and why? What would it feel like to finally let go? Can destruction be beautiful? Can freedom fit in a 3x3x3 inch cube?

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Each vitrine is one-of-a-kind. Once the materials are shredded and sealed, that particular combination is gone forever—just like the hold these materials once had over me.

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This work is personal, but it's not just about me. It's about everyone who's ever carried the weight of societal expectations about bodies, worth, beauty, identity. It's about making invisible emotional labor visible. It's about transformation through controlled destruction. It's about proving that joy and liberation can look like candy on a shelf.

Come for the nostalgia. Stay for the revolution. Leave with freedom you can hold in your hands.

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Kristine's Sweet Shoppe of Liberation
Est. 1973 | Purveyor of Sweet Confessions