Tag Archives: April 2013

Expressive, Outpatient, Photographs, Punk rock, Stories

Because Nihilism

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"Because Nihilism." 4/22/13. Watercolor and acrylic paints, charcoal, and ink. 12x16".
“Because Nihilism.” 4/22/13. Watercolor and acrylic paints, charcoal, and ink. 12×16″.

 

I painted this in April. I like ants. It’s expressive art and the story behind it is enough like a million others that it’s not worth telling. Instead, here’s the story of my life in April 2011.

—–

When Taylor finally called me back, she sounded weird. “What’s going on?” She wouldn’t say. She was being evasive. I just came out and asked – “are you done with me?” She didn’t answer right away but – when she did – yeah, that was pretty much the gist of it.

Six years… I was in total shock. I had just gotten into my first “treatment” program eight days prior. (Methadone maintenance). I was cured! How could she break up with me now?!? Life was about to become a dream! This is preposterous!

Not to mention, I was in the middle of my final exams. My final final exams. She couldn’t wait two fucking weeks to do this? I was gonna be so busy for the next few weeks that, at most she might have seen me once. By breaking up with me now, it was guaranteeing that I’d fail my exams, not graduate from law school, lose at life, and DIE. What a selfish, miserable human being. (Her, I mean). (I’m really cool and great).

Granted, her timing was a little poor but I’m obviously still alive, and my interpretation of things has changed with time. Taylor didn’t leave me that day – because I had already left her – when I let heroin overtake her on my list of priorities. For the last eight months, I had barely existed in her life. I spent all my time hiding from her, out all day, out all night, shooting up at school or the basement of our building, ignoring her phone calls. Now that I had a couple pleasant days I thought everything was gonna be okay again?

But I couldn’t see that; I couldn’t see anything. I just hurt. More than hurt. I was fucking leveled. I didn’t want to use but… I had to. If I didn’t relapse, that’d mean I wasn’t really hurt. And I was really hurt so… I had to shoot some heroin to prove it. To myself. To Taylor. To the world. (I’m not really sure). And I had to buy a lot (two hundred bucks’ worth) ‘cause that was the best deal. (Money management’s an important skill!) My little bundle lasted me through the day with a few caps left over for the next. And then I put it out of my head and got back to the task at hand.

I hadn’t been to any of my courses all semester (I never even bothered to get textbooks). I logged in to the school’s website, found out which classes I was enrolled in, and settled into a couch in a (usually) empty room at school, where I’d spend the next few weeks, trying to learn as much as I could and just maybe graduate. When I couldn’t stay up any longer, I’d put my computer in my backpack and sleep on that same couch where I was studying. I didn’t get up for anything. Almost. Every six or seven days, I’d walk to the closest store to stock up on bagel bites and apples, which I kept in the fridge of a student organization to which I (of course) didn’t belong. There were three other reasons I’d occasionally leave the couch: to smoke a cigarette, use the bathroom, and (most importantly) – once a day, between the hours of 6AM and noon – go get my daily dose of methadone.

At one point, I saw myself in the bathroom mirror and was pretty impressed with how strung out I looked. (I guess the methadone / Adderall / sleep deprivation combo will do that you).  I took a picture for posterity.

April 2011
Less than a month after this photo was taken, THIS DRUG-ADDLED FUCK UP GOT A LAW DEGREE FROM GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY!

—–

“Barkmarket Fuckacy” by House Boat is my favorite song on the last record [The Thorns of Life CD/LP] to bear the Traffic Street Records logo.

In the liner notes for the record, there’s a special “thanks to Sam North for basically ruining his life to help get this record made.”

(On our way to the studio for the recording of the album, I caught two felony possession of heroin charges and more misdemeanor charges for needles and other paraphernalia than I can count/remember). And if that wasn’t bad enough, the cops didn’t even give me back my drugs when they let me go! So on top of everything else, I had to spend the next day scrambling around Indiana looking for heroin.

Artist Statements, Expressive, Outpatient

Limp

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"Limp." 4/28/13. Acrylic paint. 12x12".
“Limp.” 4/28/13. Acrylic paint. 12×12″.

In my mind, the word “limp” is usually an adjective associated with something weak or ineffectual (like a wiener, you guys!) but it’s also a verb (Professor North’s dropping knowledge today!) and – in that sense – it’s got a very different kind of connotation. You limp when you’re hurt – when you’re struggling – but what’s important is that you’re still going in spite of whatever’s slowing you down.

When I did Crafty Fest at Artpool, I met some good people, including an artist named William Somma. He does mostly abstract paintings with lots of neon and fluorescent colors, which I liked a lot. (Before I met Will, I didn’t even know they made paint like that; that day, he let me use some for my first time). He also asked if I’d be interested in collaborating on a painting. He started it off and once his paint was dry, handed over the canvas for me do with it what I might. I had never done anything collaborative before and I didn’t quite know how to go at it. That coupled with the fact that I didn’t want to disappoint Will made it a little bit of a difficult process. I didn’t know where I was going and I wasn’t used to working with the anticipation of someone else’s reaction or response in mind. But I kept at it all the same until I finally had something I thought we could both be proud of.

While it wasn’t exactly the greatest mountain I had ever scaled, “limp” came to mind and it felt right. In a sense, being out in the world – creating and selling art like this – was a culmination of more than two years I had spent limping. Or – it would have been if I weren’t still limping. Which isn’t a complaint; it’s just what I do. And it’s working out.

——

There is (or at least used to be) a band called Fiya that had a handful of really excellent songs. When I heard a couple of those kids had started a new band (Nervous Dogs) with one of the guys from Grabass Charlestons (a band I really liked), I picked up their 7-inch immediately.

Avenida Sevilla is three songs and, if I’m being totally honest, the first two didn’t really do a lot for me – but the third was one of the most beautiful songs I had ever heard and (nearly eight years later) remains a favorite.

At $2.70, it’s way  than worth picking up. I couldn’t find the song online though so I threw a few images together and dropped it on YouTube myself.

“Walk With Difficulty” by Nervous Dogs
Dad was looking at my brother and at me and said, “I don’t know what I’d do – or if I’d even try to fight a thing like this disease – if I didn’t have the two of you.” He used to go out running in the mornings before work but he walks with difficulty now. But he walks anyhow…

—–

Artist Statements, Expressive, Outpatient, Status Update

I’m Publishing a Socialist Newspaper in Tampa, Florida

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"I'm Publishing a Socialist Newspaper in Tampa, Florida." 4/6/13. Watercolor and pen. 9x12".
4/6/13. Watercolor and pen. 9×12″.

This image was an accident. It was just a piece of paper, on my desk, beneath something that I was actually working on. I brought it with me to work on while I tabled at Indie Market [the day I painted “Roller Skating Sideways Through Blood” and “Getting Greedy“]. Ultimately, I didn’t do anything to it; instead, opting to use it as a statement about THE VALUE OF ART. (Wow! I sure am thoughtful and interesting!)

Set up on the sidewalk across from me were some kids selling a socialist newspaper they had written and published. When I was younger, I might have thought that was kind of cool and impressive but – at this point – I couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly fucking fruitless of an endeavor that must be. To publish a socialist newspaper in Tampa, Florida. I mean – what kind of a person thinks that they’re going to make the slightest fucking bit of a difference with something like that? I mean – ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Not to mention: how incredibly fucking boring.

I picked my “Value of Art” piece back up to add the words: “AND SOCIALISM!”

Though I saw the similarity between this piece and their newspaper even then, it’s only in hindsight that I see the similarity between their newspaper and everything that I do. After all, if their paper is even slightly worth a shit, I’m sure they turn someone on to a new idea every once in a while and set them on a path to… something or other… I’m sure they’ve made some kind of a positive difference in someone’s life. And I’m sure it gives a sense of purpose to theirs.

So while – on some level – I might think that publishing a socialist newspaper is a total waste of fucking time… I’ve got to admit that it’s roughly equivalent to everything  I’ve ever made and everything I ever will make. So – you know – power to the proletariat or what-the-fuck-ever.

  • 5×6″ prints of “I’m Publishing a Socialist Newspaper in Tampa, Florida” are available in my webstore. The original sold earlier this year.
  • I’m still sick and it’s bumming me out. I think one of those two new paintings I’ve been talking about is done though. If so, it’ll be online tomorrow… So… that’s kinda cool, I guess.
Artist Statements, Expressive, Outpatient

Getting Greedy

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"Getting Greedy." 4/6/13. Acrylic painting. 29x30".
“Getting Greedy.” 4/6/13. Acrylic painting. 29×30″.

Among the million criticisms launched at Against Me! when they started to get popular was that all of their songs were about playing in a band or (more generally) the music industry. I thought it was a bummer when they forgot how to write catchy, engaging songs but didn’t mind those lyrical themes so much. But part of me is bothered by this piece in that same kind of way. It’s a little too self-referential / on-the-subject-of-art/business for my taste. Or maybe I’m just embarrassed by the sentiment or the vulnerability. It was my second time selling at a street fair-kinda thing, nobody was even stopping to look at my stuff, and I was getting a little down in the dumps. Eventually people did stop – and laugh, and compliment – and come back with their friends to show them certain pieces that they really liked, but no one was really buying anything.

I knew all along that I shouldn’t need validation from anyone or anything outside of myself, but it took me a little bit to realize that – if that’s what I wanted – the positive feedback should have been enough for me to feel validated in that way anyway. After all, if the lack of sales was actually about me (or, more specifically, my art), what would that mean? What would the explanation be? It would be that my pieces weren’t good enough to sell. Which would mean that if I wanted to succeed, I’d have to make “better” art. My pieces though are authentic, honest, and expressive. A lot of them are also funny and some of them even look cool as well. Even if I didn’t know that myself, I can tell a real response or compliment from a bullshit one, and plenty of people have told me as much and genuinely meant it. I could have been peddling unearthed/never-seen Picassos, and (unless they had his name on them) I probably still wouldn’t have sold much more than I did that day. Or maybe if I had been selling technically proficient portraits of TV characters, I’d have sold everything I had. But that would have been bullshit because that’s not who I am and it’s not what I do.

So this painting is about the emotional triggers I was struggling with before I took the time to really reflect and figure it all out. When I finished it, I was too embarrassed to even add it to my display. And I’m still a little embarrassed by it, but that’s okay (just like everything else).

This statement was written in May, around the time the painting sold. An 11½x12” print/poster is available in my store.

Here’s a later-period Against Me! song that I think is every bit as good as anything they’ve ever recorded.

Artist Statements, Current Journal, Expressive, Outpatient, Punk rock

Spotlight on Mental Illness

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“Spotlight on Mental Illness b/w Drink Bleach + The Barney Generation.” 4/27/13. Acrylics and ink. 12×12″.

I made this piece on the least successful of my four art-fair-days back in St. Pete. The text on the left says, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go drink bleach.” From the top, it’s a little more sincere.

Embarrassingly so, actually. It says, “I think I’m special and that my artwork is really different and really great. I think my story is really interesting. I don’t know how much of that is self-esteem, how much is pride, and how much can be chalked up to my being a member of the Barney generation. I get really impatient though. I suffer from the same sense of entitlement as the other brats my age.”

Went to the Hexagon last night for the first Dave Strait Fest show. It was cool and it was fun and it was really great getting to see a lot of the people I haven’t seen in the last two years. Everyone was really sweet and supportive and – though it shouldn’t have – it made me a little uncomfortable at times. Not because of anything that anyone said or did, but my own response to it. It’s still hard sometimes for me to receive that kind of support/encouragement/love. I wanna say “thank you” because that’s how I feel – I feel grateful. But at the same time, I still struggle with whether or not I really deserve that kind of love and support so I get kind of awkward and sometimes sort of dismiss it with a shrug and a little self-deprecation. I need to be more cognizant of my behavior in those situations and force myself to respond authentically and gratefully.
I saw Ryan, one of my best friends from when I was living in DC. He invited me to come hang out with him at Extreme Noise today, but we’re staying on the outskirts of the city so I’m not able to get over that way until we all head out for the show tonight. We talked a good deal last night though and, at some point, he mentioned the “Diazepam” painting/blog entry. No one said anything when that went online, but it made me realize that more people probably saw it and were affected by it then I thought. I think I might have alienated some people with that. I think people were/are disappointed in me for that slip. But it happened and I’m glad that I was able to be honest about it, even if it is damaging to people’s impressions of me. I’m not proud of my behavior that day but I’m not upset that it happened either. It is. It’s real. I’m not perfect and while I’d like to be the shining-star-success-story that everyone can be proud of… this is real life. It’s not a narrative in three acts with simple conflict and resolution. Sometimes the path winds, sometimes things get messy.
None of this is to suggest that Ryan made me feel this way. It was just in his bringing it up that I got to thinking about it. Sometimes I’m so caught up in each new day that I forget that I have a past and that certain impressions from different days will last longer than the time between each post to my website. And – let’s be real – I’m talking about something that happened two weeks ago. It may feel like a lifetime to me, but – really, in some ways, it might as well have been two days ago.

I don’t want to take my focus off of myself, but there were two people I saw last night that … sparked different sorts of thought or concern. (A luxury for someone like me, I know). One, a close friend; the other, an acquaintance. I journaled a lot about it last night, but I don’t think there’s any way to share any of that without compromising somebody else’s privacy.

I know I’m not the champion of mental health, but I’ve got a little something and it makes me sad when I can’t give that to someone I care about. I wish there was more that I could do to help. Maybe there is, but I don’t know what it looks like. I might have to risk hurting some feelings for the sake of honesty. That’s being a better friend than keeping my mouth shut and letting someone fall apart without so much as a word. I’m not talking about “calling anyone out” but just genuinely expressing real concern. I need to tell the people that I care about that I care about them.

Anyway, I’m doing well and I’m looking forward to the rest of my day, which has already been nice so far. Andrea, Mike, and I went to the grocery store and brought back a feast of a breakfast, which Pete, Luke, and I then cooked up. Right now, everyone’s just resting up for tonight or doing their own thing. We’re staying at Natalie’s house with Servo and the Lipstick Homicide kids and it’s really nice and relaxed. It’s pleasant. Sometimes, on tour, in someone else’s home, it’s easy (for me anyway) to feel like an imposition or intruder, but Natalie does a great job of making everyone feel welcome and at ease.

Hit me up if you wanna buy this painting (assuming no one else has yet) or a 12×12″ print.