Kim Spinner was looking for a different kind of love.
It was the midst of the pandemic, she was going through a breakup, and she told herself that if she wasn’t made for romantic love, she would find another way.
One morning, Spinner was out walking – early. It was still dark, and La Mesa wasn’t sweeping the streets as frequently during the Covid-19 era. A few rocks caught her eye. She paused, arranged them into a heart, admired them briefly, and kept walking.
She did it again. And then again. And then, people started noticing.
On social media, people were posting pictures of her hearts and saying how they brought a smile to their day. Others were responding, saying they, too, enjoyed the street art.
“That fueled me to do more, and I started getting more elaborate by adding bougainvillea and other elements,” Spinner said. “It started blossoming into this movement – and nobody knew that it was me doing it, so that was part of the fun.”
That was four years ago. People know it’s her now, but still, every morning, she leaves her house with the sole goal of completing her daily walk – and letting inspiration carry her where it may.
Spinner’s hearts are littered around La Mesa. They’re made using whatever she finds. Some are simple; some are elaborate. She’s made them out of Cheerios, cotton candy, Goldfish crackers, and broken glass.
“The really great thing is how much it’s touched the community,” Spinner said. “It’s fed my soul, but even better is how much it feeds other people’s souls – people I don’t even know.”
One couple stumbled across one of her hearts on their first date. Later, they got engaged inside another of her hearts. Now, they have a baby.
Once, she made a heart outside a home, only to discover that the couple who lived in it was celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary that very day.
For one woman, finding a heart helped her feel as if her 13-year-old daughter, whom she had recently lost to leukemia, were with her. Another woman took a photo of one of her affirmation hearts – “You’ve got this,” it read – and sent it to her son, who was going through a challenging time.
“You don’t know who it’s going to touch, but the people who need to see them will find them,” Spinner said.
Sometimes, her art sticks around for days, and sometimes it lasts only hours. It’s fleeting and ethereal, and that’s part of its beauty: Feelings are transient; life itself is temporary. Good and bad, things will pass.
One morning, Spinner was working on a heart, humming to herself. Behind her, someone asked what she was doing. Spinner replied, and the woman returned with a broom.
“All right,” Spinner said. “I’ll sweep it away.”
“No,” the woman said, “It’s to sweep the other dirt and debris away.”
Of course, there are the few who intentionally destroy Spinner’s art. At first, it bothered her, but she has learned to reframe the situation as an opportunity to make a new one. After all, she says, her art is all about taking things that could be seen as bad and making them into something beautiful.
She once made a heart with an orange peel outline, filled with discarded cigarette butts. It reminded her of herself as she started making hearts: Dead inwardly, but presenting something else outwardly.
These days, Spinner wakes at 5 a.m. and is out the door by 6. She’s home by 9 most mornings, and makes two to three hearts per walk. The more intricate ones can take hours, but the simple ones can take minutes.
The practice has made her more observant. She notices shades and textures in a new way, a skill she’s honed over four years. Spinner, 60, was diagnosed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder at 58 years old.
“It was validating to finally learn that I don’t have a crazy mind, but a beautiful mind,” she said.
In addition to developing her eye as an artist, her early morning strolls have connected her with her neighborhood in a new way. She stops and chats with people about their lives, their jobs, their families. Listening to people’s stories makes a difference, she says.
“I’m getting to know my community so well,” she said. “It’s a way of loving the city.”
Spinner, a hairstylist, said she never considered herself an artist until the hearts taught her to embrace and celebrate her creative side. She’s learned to love herself and, by extension, to create something that speaks to her community.
“I don’t know where the hearts came from, other than that I needed a new way to love,” Spinner said. “I needed a new way to love, and the hearts have taught me about loving myself and loving other people. You love yourself first, and then you can love everybody.”