Jewel’s career includes making one of the top-selling debut albums in music history, writing the best-selling poetry book of all time, and performing for Pope John Paul II at the Vatican and for President Clinton at his second inaugural ball.
It has not included cofounding a virtual mental health platform or spearheading an immersive, wellness-focused multimedia extravaganza with 200 drones and a 7-foot-high hologram of Jewel at an Arkansas museum in the Ozark Mountains. Until now.
“This is happening in Bentonville, in the middle of nowhere, and I have gotten more press attention than seems possible,” the former San Diego singer-songwriter said of “The Portal: An Art Experience by Jewel.”
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Billed as an exploration of the intersection of music, mental health, technology and art, “The Portal” opened a three-month run in May at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art.
“It’s been covered in W magazine and Forbes. The People magazine article about ‘The Portal’ got the most clicks of anything since Queen Elizabeth’s death,” Jewel said. “Wow!”
People and Forbes are among the media outlets that last year also covered the launch of Innerworld, a virtual-reality based wellness center that — depending on one’s ability to pay — is available free or for a monthly fee.
“Innerworld is a mental health intervention platform designed to give scientifically proven results,” said Jewel, who is Innerworld’s chief strategy officer. She cofounded it with Noah Robinson, a clinical psychologist and former National Institute of Health fellow.
“I think this is the first time anybody’s been able to leverage technology for mental health in a positive way,” Jewel said. “Innerworld is also a social platform and it is kind of modeled after my EverydayAngels (fan club) base for people that are like-minded that want to create a safe forum for people to help each other. I’m very proud of what we built and its efficacy.”
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Innerworld is an outgrowth of her Inspiring Children Foundation, the nonprofit Jewel launched 22 years ago, and of Never Broken, a free “emotional destination” website designed to help people use mindfulness exercises to cultivate positive change in themselves.
For “The Portal,” her multimedia art and healing show, Jewel also drew some inspiration from her interpretation of 17th century Danish philosopher and theologian Soren Kirkegaard’s “Spheres of Existence.” Kirkegaard believed that human existence revolves around three spheres: the aesthetic, the ethical and the religious. “The Portal,” also the name of Jewel’s new EP, includes a mediative art walk and a culinary component.
“It’s so improbable to get this kind of positive response to an art show,” the Alaska-born troubadour said, “let alone a sincere project about mental health and the three realms, or spheres, of human existence; the inner, outer and unseen worlds.”
“The Portal,” which closes July 28, features several paintings and sculptures by Jewel. It also includes 200 illuminated drones, which are programed to hover in sync to new music by Jewel as part of the museum’s open-air silent disco. the work of 10 lesser-known visual artists, who were handpicked by Jewel.
“It’s a very expensive, because of the drones and the massive nature of this comprehensive museum undertaking, and I didn’t make any money from it,” she said. “It’s still mind-blowing to me that they let me do it, because they didn’t see any of my sculptures until three days before the show opened.”
Jewel spoke to the San Diego Union-Tribune recently from her home in the Rocky Mountains. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
US singer Jewel attends the The Los Angeles LGBT Center Gala at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, California on May 18, 2024. (Photo by MICHAEL TRAN/AFP via Getty Images)
Q: Except in San Diego, you were an unknown singer-songwriter in 1995 when Melissa Etheridge invited you to be one of the young guest singers on her VH1 “Duets” TV special. How flattered and surprised were you?
A: It was really a visionary thing for her to do, especially as I look back on it. Women weren’t popular in music at that time. Of course, Lilith Fair did well in 1997. But this ‘Duets’ show was two years before that. I was an opening act when I toured in 1995 and no one believed two women could be on a concert bill together. Melissa had a good nose and ear. She picked Sophie B. Hawkins. Joan Osborne, Paula Cole; I don’t think any of us were very popular at that time. And Melissa gave us a sweet gift for being on the show that I still have, a little Tiffany tchotchke. It was incredibly classy of her.
Q: If we go back to 1994, you were part of a vital scene of San Diego singer-songwriters that included Elizabeth Hummel, Peggy Watson, Lisa Sanders, Joy Eden Harrison, Cindy Lee Berryhill, Gregory Page, Steve Poltz, John Katchur, and the list goes on. How important was it to be part of such a tight, supportive musical community?
A: I just heard about the recent Java Joe’s reunion concert (in San Diego) and it featured a lot of the musicians from back then. There was a vital scene at that time and it was really supportive. I remember Stevie Salas helping me out. And Steve and Gregory really helped me. The venues weren’t supportive, but the musicians were. The venues had so much leverage making musicians play for tips. That still makes me mad. I remember being asked to pay $200 to play a gig (as an opening act). I wasn’t looking to be famous; I just wanted to have enough money to eat and to get out of (living in) my car.
Q: Was Innerworld a longtime in the making?
A: It started with wanting to see if we can solve a complex problem without therapy. I’m not against therapy; it’s just that not everyone has access to it. If you’re going to learn how not to be miserable, then that takes an education. And therapy, at its best, should be a re-education. It’s so expensive and the only people getting access to the best care, the best therapists, are people with money. That’s just unacceptable to me.
Q: If you don’t mind my asking, have you ever had therapy?
A: I have. I was always very skittish about it because when I was younger, I didn’t have access to it. And then, after what I went through (emotionally and in court) with my (long-estranged) mom, my brain had been so messed with … through so much psychological abuse. And I did therapy after my divorce. It caused me to develop tools for myself. I wanted to learn how to identify (problems) and heal inside myself. I think that’s what’s made me so good at behavioral health and building platforms like this.
Q: How different is your impetus for making music now than when you were playing solo gigs at the Inner Change coffee house in Pacific Beach 30 years ago?
A: It’s never changed. I write songs so much more often than I record them or publish them, and that is a shame. I think it’s just a kind of a side effect of being a mom, a full-time single mom. I’ve been thinking recently that I should just record and release songs, just acoustic, on my own. I have so many songs! When ‘The Portal’ launched in May — I’m 50 years old — it really reminded me of the Inner Change and that exciting time of discovery in my life, and I didn’t know I could ever feel that way again.
Q: A lot of people crave sincerity; others are more cynical and make fun of sincerity. Your 1998 poetry book, “A Night Without Armor,” was infused with sincerity. It became the bestselling book of poetry, ever, and it was also widely ridiculed.
A: My first album, “Pieces of You,” too. It was just destroyed (by reviewers). I was destroyed. The ’90s was not an era of kindness for women in music. I was called a ‘navel-gazing Pollyanna.’
Q: What were the major takeaways for you to have millions of people connect with your book of poetry, and its sincerity, then be ridiculed for it at the same time?
A: When I was playing at the Inner Change, a record company bidding war started up to sign me. And I knew it would be foolish to confuse that competition with me or my talent. Not to say it didn’t have any value, I just felt it was inflated and that I shouldn’t take it personally, because that would be dangerous, when what I was was a folk artist.
I had extreme mental health issues at the time, panic attacks, eating disorders, and I was shoplifting. But I learned to get a grip on those things while I was homeless. What I learned to value was my authenticity. Because nobody then knew the real me. People didn’t know I was homeless and living in my car at the time. And they shouldn’t have known; it’s dangerous to tell people that. But I didn’t want to be lonely anymore, and that meant I had to be willing to be seen. And that sounds odd for me to say, since I’ve been singing on stage since I was 5.
Q: Writing your own songs and poetry were your outlet.
A: Writing, for me, was a choice to be honest, and the people who gave me the courage to do that were Charles Bukowski, Anais Nin, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan. They were the most courageous writers that I’d ever come across. They talked about their faults and what was going on in their lives. So, when I was performing in this San Diego coffee shop scene, I laid it all out. What built me at the Inner Change was that relationship with people of honesty and authenticity.
Most artists used their music, songwriting or fame as a propaganda tool to make themselves seem more perfect than they were. And it would get them put up on a pedestal, and then knocked off to the floor. So, my strategy was like: “What if I just always lead with the truth?” It’s why the paparazzi, for as famous as I was, never bothered me. Because I always beat everybody to the punch; there was nothing to discover about me.
Q: Your debut album was released in 1995, flopped at first, then went on to sell 12 million copies.
A: “Pieces of You” came out at the height of grunge. I saw this graph in my mind: “Where’s culture, and where am I? Where do I intersect?” I knew where culture was and I knew I had been in pain at a much younger age than maybe a lot of people might go through, moving away from home at 15, being homeless. I had already made a very sharp commitment in my life not to commit suicide. So, if you’re not going to commit suicide, you have to ask yourself: “How do I deal with being miserable if I’m not willing to kill myself? How do I deal with this much pain? How do I deal with the types of conflicts and hypocrisy that are in my own life and in my own personality?” And that’s why I bet on myself.
What happened then is a whole community of people rallied around an unabashed and apologetic authenticity in my music, which to me is very punk rock. I’ve never been a critic’s darling, because I’m unapologetically sincere. I don’t think I’m earnest; I think there’s a difference. Luckily, I had the internet to talk to my fans and tell them I believe cynicism is a cop-out and takes no courage. I created a lexicon with my fans in the ’90s and called it “informed optimism.”
I always thought I was great, and I didn’t care if anybody else agreed with me. I knew what I did every day, just to be alive, took courage. And I was able to communicate that to a group of people around me and we had a relationship because of the internet. The press never did understand it, and that’s OK.
