Tag Archives: heroin

Artist Statements, Current Journal, Expressive

Fuzzles

7 Comments

“Fuzzles.” 2/16/13. Acrylics on cardboard. 9¾x10½”.

“Fuzzles” is the second painting in “The Weak End” series. It was a response to something that happened in the “rehab talent show” the previous day. The last performance was by the counselors, who put on a skit, in which one of the characters was me. Part of the costume was a shredded, sleeveless shirt with the words, “I Hate the Easter Bunny” painted on the front (that, as I was told, was their tamer/safer equivalent to something I might wear). So when it came time to caption this painting, I thought, “If I were actually going to make some kind of a joke about a bunny, what would it be?” And the caption on this piece is what spilled out of my brain.

I don’t usually try to be funny when I make artwork. I make jokes through/with art sometimes, but it’s never my main purpose. And when I do make jokes, they tend to be at my expense, poking fun at my real mental and emotional defects. This is somewhere on the line though between honest and silly. At the specific moment when I captioned this, I wasn’t feeling particularly happy or sane, so while I have never had a rabbit named Fuzzles that I put in a freezer, this is definitely a reflection of where I was at emotionally on the morning of February 16th. It was raining outside. I remember looking out the window as I painted and feeling lonely, unappreciated, unloved, and – kind of angry about it.

But when I looked down at my cardboard canvas and saw what I had painted and what I had written, I smiled. Art (even art that’s kind of silly) makes me feel better – about myself and about the world I live in. Life is funny. Life is fun. Sometimes it’s tough to keep that at the forefront of my mind. Fuzzles helps.

—–

I get to go on tour with Rational Anthem soon. It’s only for a week, but I’m really excited. Especially since it’s around Dave Strait Fest in Minneapolis, where something like twenty of my favorite bands are going to be playing. And, the night that we leave, there’s no show, but we needed to stay somewhere between Sarasota and St. Louis. I hit up Stewart at No Breaks Records to see if we could stay with him in Atlanta. Stewart and I never hung out that much (’cause we’ve never lived in the same state) but back when I was running Traffic Street we’d talk all the time. I talked to Stewart as much as any of my friends back then. The last time I saw him in person though was Awesome Fest 5. Which was a disaster for me. Actually, like two of my last three posts, I’m realizing that there’s a story here that I didn’t anticipate. I’ll have to come back to that. The point is (aside from everyone else I already knew I’d be seeing) I’m excited that I’ll get to see him too. And not be a trainwreck of a human being, alternately high or sick, this time. And it struck me as really rad that even though we’ve barely talked in the last two years, I was still able to message him and see if he’d put us up, and he responded just as quickly that – yeah – of course. There needs to be more to friendship than a common interest in punk rock, but friendships that begin with that, that are built around those ideals… it’s a pretty great place to start. I’m grateful for punk rock, for community, and for friends like Stewart (and Rational Anthem)!

Here’s a song from the record Stewart and I split-released back in the day.


Which reminds me, I’m also gonna get to see Troy  (ex-Creases) for the first time in two years. And I’ll get to see his new band, Tight Bros, for the first time ever. Twice!  – And I just realized this is only four days away. I have no concept of time… ever. But I’m excited.

—–

“The Weak End” series includes:

Artist Statements, Expressive, Inpatient, Photographs

4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show

13 Comments

"4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show." 2/16/13. Acrylics on cardboard. 18x27".

“4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show.” 2/16/13. Acrylics on cardboard. 18×27″.

 

Sometimes someone will compliment my “talent,” despite the fact that I have none. What I lack in ability though, I make up for in willingness. Almost anyone can do what I do. What makes my art special is that they don’t (and I do!) Creativity? I get good ideas sometimes, but when I’ve got nothing that’s when the willingness really helps out. If I don’t know what to paint, I just go. Honestly, it’s mostly out of necessity. My brain is damaged and expressive art therapy is the best tool I’ve got.

It was Friday and I was upset. I had been at Tranquil Shores for six months so I had the kind of freedom that allowed me to go outside, cross the street, and grab a cardboard box off the curb. I spent the next two hours painting nothing, just moving colors around on the cardboard. When I was done, I was covered in paint and had a 72-inch panel of cardboard that was… also covered in paint. I let it dry and still had no idea what to do with it. I started looking for images that were already there and outlined them with black paint, adding details at will. Two hours later, I realized that I had one “canvas” but (the beginnings of) close to a dozen paintings. So I cut it up and spent the next two days finishing them. I did virtually nothing but paint for about 48 hours. Which is not really the kind of balance that one is taught to strive for while in recovery (and especially treatment)…

But that’s okay because that phase of my life was about to come to an (unanticipated) end. What had started fifteen months (and three facilities) earlier ended the following Tuesday. I gradually started moving out of Tranquil Shores and within ten days, fully transitioned to outpatient treatment. This is the first of those cardboard paintings I made between Friday and Sunday. There are ten in all and I consider them all part of a series that I call “The Weak End”.

The title of this first painting is an allusion to our first group session earlier that day. We had to perform a “talent” of some kind. I had been dreading it all week and tried to get out of it. Initially, I joked that my talent would be a demonstration: “how to cook GHB” (also known as 4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid) – something I learned (through doing) in my last year of law school. Then I joked that my entire life had been performance art and that I should be allowed to simply show up. That didn’t fly either. Ultimately, I brought in a painting, read a statement, and spoke off the cuff a little about it (all while Troublemake songs played in the background).

My apprehension turned out to be for nothing, as my whole “act” was incredibly well received. But as well as I felt about that, I was still off somehow. I think I knew that the end was coming and I was scared to move on. But I did move on and everything worked out really well. I didn’t fall apart the second I moved into the outside world and I actually started to enjoy life more than I ever had in the past. And I discovered that I could stay off heroin, out on my own, for more than three or four days.

One more thing about the title: it’s also (inadvertently) about fear. I hadn’t ever painted anything without some kind of caption but this piece felt right without one. Still, while any words I might add would feel tacked on, I felt a little vulnerable without one. That made it all the more necessary for the painting to have an absurd title for me to hide behind.

—–

Today was a really great day and I think I’m finally starting to get my grip back. In case it doesn’t go without saying, I haven’t been using anything, but abstinence doesn’t equal wellness and it’s been a tough week. I decided this morning to start posting some of the paintings from this series and I’ve got the first four ready to go. The second one will be online soon with more to come…

—–

Here are a couple photos from early in the process of creating “The Weak End” series of paintings.

The giant painting from which all ten paintings were eventually made.
The giant painting from which all ten paintings were eventually made.

 

Today, I use my hands as often as I use brushes. This was the first time I had done that though.
Today, I use my hands as often as I use brushes. This was the first time I had done that though.

—–

“The Weak End” series includes:

—–

  • This painting sold in April, but signed 10×14″ prints are available in my webstore (and they look awesome)!
Artist Statements, Expressive, Outpatient

Maybe I Don’t Believe in God

4 Comments

Originally, I was going to spend tonight working on some art for Billy Raygun, but (as excited as I am about that) I think I need to do some expressive art therapy. I’ve got a lot on my mind and a lot that I’m stressing out about, so I’m gonna try to be present, here and now, and just paint whatever comes.

maybeidontbelieveingod
“Maybe I Don’t Believe in God.” April 19th, 2013. Tempera and oil pastels on cardboard. 14×17″.

If you take the time to read this, I think you’ll appreciate it.

Statement. June 1st, 2013.

On “the inside,” my ability to express myself authentically reached incredible new heights. Out here, in the real world, sometimes I’m inclined to put my walls back up just a little bit. I had taken to talking about God for a while. When I’d talk about God, I was just referring to my ideas about love, acceptance, and [well] reality, I guess. The word “god” was part convenient shorthand and part… it just felt right. I didn’t feel the need to explain my personal brand of faith every time I used it. I speak coherently and my words have meaning that doesn’t require an exposition of my own understanding of (what I might call) God.

But back in the aforementioned real world… (outside of the contexts of twelve-step meetings and mental health treatment facilities) “God” has certain connotations that I might not want to be associated with. I don’t want people to judge me – to misunderstand me – and see me as something that I’m not, just because I feel okay terming my beliefs as “belief in God.” “Besides,” I thought to myself, “if I know that I’m only choosing to believe in the things I do – that I don’t think there’s any absolute truth to it (or to anything else for that matter) – is that even really belief?” I wasn’t really sure and I wasn’t certain that I was willing to take the risk of espousing something that could result in my being labeled as a Christian or even as some kind of new age spirituality dweeb.

This was on my mind when I showed up to expressive art therapy group back at Tranquil Shores one day in April. “Today, we’re going to make shields,” Julie told us.

And this is what came out of me. “Fucking perfect” – is how I’m compelled to describe it now. That afternoon though, as I was painting it, I was a little unsure. When I was asked to share a little bit about my piece with the others in the group (which – aside from me – is always comprised of the facility’s current inpatients) I spewed out a summary of my journey from the fiercely irreligious, non-agnostic, non-atheist to [whatever it is that I am today].

When someone finishes sharing about their artwork, the floor is open for feedback, if anyone has any. “That was better – that was more helpful than anything I’ve ever heard my counselor say”; “I want Sam to be my counselor”; “I want Sam to be my sponsor”; “that was amazing”; and “please don’t ever stop coming back for this group” were some of the things I heard. I felt incredible. I felt blessed.

This piece isn’t about my spirituality. It’s about fear. It’s about authenticity of expression. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, but I still get scared. The quotes at the end of the preceding paragraph: I’m afraid to include them lest they be perceived as indications of arrogance. But when I stand up to my fear – when I put down my shield – and express myself honestly and authentically, the rewards are beyond description.

That’s not always easy. I started this statement with the story and background that I shared that day (about my spirituality). But – as stated – this piece isn’t about spirituality. After ninety minutes spent on this, I realized that what drove me to begin this statement in that way was the same fear that I was addressing in painting the piece that I’m writing about: a fear of being judged or labeled as someone who “believes” in something. Despite the time and energy I poured into that writing tonight, to not remove it would have been antithetical to everything you’ve just read (which was, originally, the conclusion of this statement).

I’d prefer to keep this personal, but I feel a little bit of background information is necessary here. Krokodil is a synthetic opiate that, basically, has the effect of eating the flesh off of your fucking bones. It sort of turns you into a zombie… It’s bizarre and fucked up and awful. For a time though, I reveled in krokodil; I was thoroughly in love with the concept of this people-eating drug. There’s nothing to really love about something that destroys people the way that this particular drug does though. With one exception…

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard someone say to (or about) some drug addict in their life, “Why can’t [you/he/she] just stop? Just fucking stop.” Some people say addiction is a disease. I don’t know about that (and, really, I think that’s sort of a semantic argument anyway). I know this though: if addiction was a matter of control, of self-discipline, of restraint… no one would ever inject a drug that [ahem] eats the flesh off of your fucking bones. It’s only when a person is so hopelessly crippled by their misery, self-loathing, pain, addiction, and that endless cycle of the same that they would do something as devastatingly destructive as injecting krokodil. Which, I believe, makes krokodil proof positive that when we talk about addicts, we are not talking about willpower or resolve. Disease, mental disorder, a symptom of some other ill… classify it however you want, so long as you understand that we’re not talking about a simple character defect.

I used to say I loved krokodil because it was so wonderfully dark, evil, and fucked up. Now I claim to love it insofar as it’s the ultimate evidence that conquering addiction is not something that an addict can simply decide and will him or herself into. Which one is really the truth about why I love krokodil? In all honesty, I’m not sure. Certainly there’s truth to both of them, but to what degree I’m not sure. Krokodil is emblematic of my struggle to express myself authentically. And it’s something that I need to spend more time really examining.

The writing of this statement has been revelatory and – like many of my paintings – has been “painted and repainted” to the point where it bears no resemblance to what I first put on the “canvas.” At a certain point though, whether or not I feel like I’ve reached a point of denouement, I stop painting and let a piece exist for what it is – as a snapshot of myself at a certain moment in my life. I’m told (and I know) that I am not the person I once was. For longer than I can remember, I was thoroughly negative, but – today – I have a positive energy and am a welcome presence in the lives of the people whom I care about and who care about me. Nevertheless, I am still attracted to (what I can only think to describe as) darkness. Hate, pain, tragedy – these are things that I’m more than familiar with; I’m comfortable with them. I’m no longer interested in nurturing them or living in them, but… maybe they’re just part of who I am. And maybe – so long as I’m not contributing to them – maybe that’s okay.

Or maybe not. I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things. But I’m happy today and I like who I am today. I do good things. That’s enough.

Current Journal, Expressive, Intentional, Post-Treatment

Stand Up and Say No

2 Comments

It wasn’t gradual and it wasn’t an accident. I was eighteen years old and I remember saying to a friend, “Where can we get heroin and where can we get needles?” I was angry and I was miserable. The world was not fair and it wasn’t fun. Everything that everyone had told me was important was not. Shooting heroin seemed like a pretty good way to prove either that nothing mattered or – at the very least – that everything everyone else believed to be true was actually bullshit.

Six years later I was even angrier and even more miserable. I got reckless with heroin. I didn’t care anymore about whether or not I developed a physical dependence. I started shooting up every day. This would really prove a point, right? Eh, probably not. But it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t care. It made me hurt less. That was enough.

When I started a record label in 2008, I named it “Traffic Street,” after the last song on “The Cheap Wine of Youth,” the second EP by Rivethead. It’s been my favorite record for a long time and it means even more to me today than it did back then.

The songs on that record describe life more accurately and poetically than anything I’ve ever read. There are the feelings of desperation and exhaustion, but there are also all the little moments that make life worth living. And there’s hope. When I’m feeling awful, I listen to “The Cheap Wine of Youth.” When everything’s going my way, I listen to “The Cheap Wine of Youth.” I’ve been asked for advice in the past and found myself quoting these lyrics. They come into my head every day, whether or not I’ve listened to it. It’s the most important piece of art I’ve ever been exposed to and its influenced the way that I’ve lived my life and the way that I live it today.

From “48 Doublestack”: I know it’s nothing short of terrible – the way this place seems sometimes. Still, it’s not impossible to laugh at the bullshit, drink up with the worst. Kid, I know it’s hard but try not to let the world make you the sucker all the time. These things that we’ve done, somewhat desperate and drunk, built the basis for this restless way that we live. We’ve rejected what you’ve got to show for the trade-off.

From “Traffic Street”: And now today I think I found a way to make myself go outside and laugh in the faces of the winning team, while they chase boring dreams and still live paycheck to paycheck. Do what you really wanna do. Don’t fucking “yes, sir” through your whole life like a fool, kid. I hope you don’t really need the lies. Don’t fucking waste your time with the world always dragging you down.

I don’t shoot heroin anymore and I’m not miserable anymore. People tell me I should take the bar exam and be a lawyer. I don’t want to be a lawyer. A lot of people think that’s crazy and think that they know better than I do how I ought to be living. I don’t need to shoot heroin anymore to show them just how little their ideas and opinions mean to me. Now, I’ve got a new way to laugh in the faces of the winning team. I wipe my ass with my law degree and I paint pictures of weird kids with bad teeth. Money is cool, but it’s not that cool. I’m not interested in the trade-off. I like my life the way that it is and I’m way happier living this dream than I would be chasing that other kind.

When life seems tough, I draw inspiration and encouragement from these lyrics (and a lot of others in the Rivethead / Dear Landlord catalog).  If it sounds silly to say stuff like this about a pop punk record… I don’t care. This is the kind of stuff that I think is important.

standupandsayno
“Stand Up and Say No.”July 31st, 2013. Acrylics and ink. 16×20″ stretched canvas.

Zack (who wrote the music (and sang) in Rivethead) has become one of my closest friends over the last few years.  Brad (who wrote the lyrics (and played drums) in Rivethead), on the other hand, I don’t really know outside of a couple shows and a couple fests. But he knows how much I like that band. One day last year, my counselor gave me a package that had come in the mail for me. It had Brad’s name on the return address. I opened it up to find a letter and a test pressing of “The Cheap Wine of Youth.” I’m pretty sure there are only four of these in the world. He could have easily sold it on eBay for … shit … at least a couple hundred bucks I’d guess. Probably more. But he sent it to me, as a surprise, while I was in rehab. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it’s pretty much the coolest thing anyone could have sent me. It’s on the same level as if Aaron Cometbus had sent me the original handwritten Double Duce. Or if Zack had given me the last Rivethead t-shirt and City Sound Number Five poster (which he did (because he’s awesome) (and I love him for it)).

But – yeah – this painting is my “thank you” to Brad ‘cause getting that record, from him, on that day, was… something for which I am incredibly grateful. I don’t really have the words to describe it.

The images are allusions to the lyrics of “48 Double Stack” and “Traffic Street.” If you don’t understand the caption, go pick up a copy of the record and start from the beginning.

Here it is on my wall. It’s the one record I’ve ever framed.
cheapwinetest

And here – for your listening pleasure – (by the flip of a coin) is “48 Doublestack.”

The painting featured in this entry is available as a 12×16″ print/poster. It comes signed, numbered (of 10), and framed.