Hiya

Hi there, First off—huge props to you! Awesome work, and thank you. I know I’m Australian now, but please bear with me while I share a bit about where I came from. I was born in Winchester, England, in 1978. My parents had a small semi-detached brick house at 1 Derwent Court, Andover, Hampshire, SP10 5EQ. Dad grew up in a boys’ home and joined the British military young. Mum’s side of the family were German descendants who came over after the war.Back then, England had a rigid class system you simply couldn’t climb out of. We lived on a housing estate where one side of the square had occupied homes and the other side had rows of government houses sitting empty because people couldn’t afford them. Life was tough.

 

As a kid, I didn’t understand any of this, but the area was brutal. Between ages 9 and 12, I became a thief—not because I wanted to, but because I had to pay “protection” money to Tammy and her crew, the gang that controlled the underpasses on the way to school. They extorted every kid who walked through. I stole cigarettes—first packets, then whole cartons—from my parents and the local shop just to hand them over. I was beaten, abused, and there was no one who could stop it.The final straw came on the very first day my parents trusted me with a house key so I wouldn’t have to go to the awful childminder’s house after school (a place that favoured their own kids and treated me like an outsider). Having that key meant I could take a longer route home and completely avoid the underpasses—even in winter, through snow, rain, and ice. I’d sometimes hide out in the bottom level of the flats until it got late, just to miss their timing. If you haven’t lived it, you really don’t know.

 

My parents had friends whose older son went to my school and ran with the squatter crowd. His mum was always having trouble with him. Word had got around that I was stealing cigarettes, which made my family look less “respectable”—especially since my parents had worked incredibly hard (both holding down jobs) to actually buy our house, something rare on the estate.That first day with the key, I went straight home, let myself in, and felt safe for once. Then my parents came home. Dad asked if I’d been in his office. I hadn’t. Mum asked if I’d messed with her makeup and perfume. I hadn’t. They asked if I’d eaten all the bread—I love food, but I hadn’t even made myself a sandwich. Other things were moved or missing too. Naturally, I was the prime suspect.It turned out Mum had mentioned in confidence to her friend that she was giving me the key. That friend sent her youngest son (under 5) through the tiny window above the main lounge window, then let the older boy in through the front door. They took what they wanted and left clues pointing to me—the “unreliable kid who was already thieving.” There was even a small shoe print later found on the wall below the window.

 

In short: people in poverty are treated like the scum of society. We don’t get the best version of humanity from those circumstances. These cycles breed desperation, not because people are bad, but because they’re trapped—with no real power or pathway to escape what feels like “the matrix.”

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We then immigrated: We were given an opportunity through my father’s accrued skills via the points system, and fortunately had the option to move to either Canada or New Zealand. From the age of twelve, I grew up in a place I can only describe as the closest thing to heaven on earth—New Zealand (in comparison to England).

 

I really hope you consider my story, because I believe I have some important aspects to add—and maybe, just maybe, I can contribute to ideas for a way out.England dynamically went through changes and had a few good years; however, the class structure is still very apparent, in my belief. In New Zealand, and now Australia, I am seeing the exact same issues emerge, along with all the devastating attributes of poverty and the criminal decisions made based on situational circumstances and limited, affluent choices. People are stuck, with no ability to work their way out of a financial class structure that favors the wealthy elite.Three countries—all under the Commonwealth, yet all facing similar challenges. Potentially, I think Canada may be experiencing similar issues, though I cannot speak from experience.

 

Now, before we go on, please accept my apologies for my ignorance. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, an economist. I did not gain any mathematics accreditation throughout my schooling. I am an artist, a dreamer, and have a tendency to think outside the box—one who has run businesses for over 20 years in two countries.

Economic dynamics, however, are something I can speak to through lived experience. I originally chose a career path as a tattoo artist when I left school. My father wouldn’t allow it. He said what I did when I was older was fine, but if I were to leave school early under his roof, I had to gain a trade or job experience first.

 

Funnily enough, another British family we were friends with—the Penfolds—had a son who drove me around to all the local car-painting shops so I could enquire about apprenticeships. That’s another story, but I did land one at Coastal and Classic Panel Beaters, and that became my starting point. From there, I became the first female auto painter in crash repair and restoration—a self-taught airbrush artist and custom painter—in Australasia.

 

I was able to work on contracts abroad and, at one stage, did custom paint work for California’s Inland Empire Harley-Davidson for the 100-year anniversary of Harley, on some limited-edition V-Rods.I was also contracted to airbrush a guitar, a drum head, and a full window display setup for the Hollywood Guitar Center. I did work for Twin Thunder and California Classics events too.I won the 2005 Auckland Auto Salon with the Best Painted Graphics trophy. Like many renowned works I’ve accomplished, someone else stepped in and took the limelight—which could have really catapulted someone with skills like mine. Another story, but apparent nonetheless.

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I still wanted to be a tattooer, so I undertook a so-called apprenticeship—also another story. A few years later, I started my own custom paint and airbrush shop with the help of my dad.

 

In 2008, we hit the GFC, and that was my first real lesson in supply and demand. Charge-out rates for custom jobs were higher than tattoo costs, and airbrushed/custom paint work—being luxury services—were the first to disappear.

I also set up an event called Skin and Steel at the North Shore Events Centre: an alternative concept combining all my passions. (You see, back in 1999 when ZZ Top played at Green Lane in Auckland, I approached Frontier Touring and asked if I could put on a hot-rod and bike show alongside the concert—to show the USA what NZ was all about and how much we loved the culture.) I was young, nervous, shy as hell, and all I had were ideas. I was physically sick before visiting each car club and speaking in front of them. To keep it fair, I asked every club to provide five of their best cars, offering free driver and passenger tickets to the event in return. I arranged onsite security, mapping, parking, food and beverage, traffic management—everything incidental.

It went off without a hitch and was awesome: 35 top hot rods, 35 top motorcycles, and a full concert crowd.

 

Skin and Steel was my bigger dream—an event that mixed alternative styles into the scene. All the hot-rod shows I’d attended served up the same old thing. I love it, but give me a break—we’ve got bands like Five Finger Death Punch featuring music videos with Welderup-built rat rods, yet we’re still stuck with American Graffiti vibes. I get it; it’s an icon and I love it too—but what about today’s artists? Let’s back that effort and energy, big or small! That’s what inspired Skin & Steel in 2008. I ran it at a loss because I had zero outside help—even my local car club didn’t want to know, as there was nothing in it for them. I had cars tied to business advertising and put on a good show, but man, it was an eye-opener. Close friends and family pitched in, but I still had a lot to learn. Sadly, in 2009 I fell $10k short of the sponsorship value needed, which meant I had to pull the pin. By then I’d already lost $20k on the 1st event, of what was essentially my family’s money.

 

In my main buisness of 'Kustom Paint' The dynamic in my business shifted: tattooing, which had been a simple add-on that I enjoyed, became the primary income stream.That shift saved me.

Life wasn’t peaches, but the bills got paid. New Zealand has a very high business tax of 15%, which is a killer for SMEs—something I would vote to change immediately, which we’ll get to later.

 

By 2012, I’d had a gutful of what I considered the two gangs: the underworld, which had a chokehold on tattooing, and the government gang that raped and pillaged the people.

On October 1st, 2013, NSW (Australia) introduced the tattoo licensing regime, so I moved to Australia and worked for the infamous Bondi Ink as a licensed tattoo artist.

I then reopened a business, always with the wish of an all-in-one studio—tattooing, custom paint, and airbrushed art. Looking back now, I was a fucking idiot to have those dreams. The legislative red tape that claims to be cleaning up the industry does nothing more than cement the gangs more solidly into the economy—yet another aspect I would initiate a vote for. We’ll come back to this.

 

My road has been anything but smooth, but supply and demand remained stable—until the COVID closure forced my business to shut down for six months, starting March 25, 2020, without a single trade. Then the insurance premiums for the entire building escalated, costing an additional $5K on top of my annual lease. I could not absorb this expense and ended up losing my shop, the fit-out, and everything included.This May 2025, I saw the permanent closure of my business, one month shy of tenure.

I am now watching, in real time, my industry friends and foes struggle as our worlds die. I am watching surplus money once spent on luxuries shift into finance payments and minimisation. I am watching social media promote facades of “we’ll get through the storm.”

You and I both know we won’t.

 

Right—enough doom. I think we’re on the same page. I am working on some significant manoeuvres for Australia, but the one offering I believe could work globally—and quickly, with the right support—is a Civic Transparent Voting System, set up similarly to how the stock exchange operates. Everything would be 100% votable.

Hypothetically, if we could establish a representative, safe conglomerate to manage a blockchain for public donations—say $10 per person (working in AUD here, my bro)—then $2–5 million would surely be enough to develop a real-time ledger voting system with verified IDs, again, much like the stock exchange.

 

If we have that, we can vote to reroute taxes and vote in an entirely new system that is transparent and accountable. The system could then be duplicated and rolled out country by country.

 

Votes could be initiated by anyone. Archaic laws and large-company evasions could all be voted on without the sway of corruption. I have some links here. I am limited in my formal economics experience—I just know basic balance sheets, accounting, supply and demand, and one undeniable truth: if the money isn’t there, people can’t eat.

 

Simple.

End of story.

“I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job, but fuck it—I’ll push forward anyway, whatever it costs. I’ve got nothing left to lose, and far more importantly, I’ve got wrongs to put right.”

 

What I want to ask is for your help to promote my message: use my work, put your own spin on it, and assist me in appointing some global, significant people we can trust to help raise the capital in a transparent blockchain—for all to access and view in real time—to build these transparent civic voting systems.

 

Love your work. Erika

 

My artist website and Fuel for Tomorrow:

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My concept landing page for anyone:

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​My YouTube channel:

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