Free from Expectations, Shoes, and Toothpaste

I don’t like to paint stuff that’s not a canvas but I’l do it if you pay me enough money. For this bowl, I revisited the concept from my original painting, “Free From Shoes, Expectations, and Toothpaste.”

In my first run as an artist –  before everything fell apart and I took a 9-year hiatus from painting (and life) – I had a relatively easy time going from zero to sixty and making a living off my funny faces and scribbles.

But whether it’s ‘cause of the borderline personality disorder (or whatever else), even minor road bumps can leave me totally dejected.

It was April 2013 and I’d sold art at three events: the first successful; the next two not. It was the morning of my fourth and I was feeling very discouraged and like I shouldn’t even bother. I didn’t wanna get dressed, brush my teeth, and drive up to this thing only to feel totally rejected. 

It was then that I had an epiphany. I don’t have to get dressed or make myself presentable. Wearing the shorts I slept in, I could just hop in the car and – yes – set my shit up at the market, but just spend the day painting. Who cares if I look like a grimy little shit and no one buys anything? I’ll still be spending the day doing something I love. 

I decided to expect nothing – no sales, no positive attention – just nothing from anyone but myself. And I wouldn’t care how I looked or what people thought of me. I didn’t have to hide the parts of my body I was more self-conscious of by putting on a shirt or shoes. And I didn’t need to brush my teeth before I left. (I could just do that when I got home later). Not giving a shit about how I looked or whether or not I was gonna make any money felt awesome. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I felt FREE. Like this huge weight had been lifted from me.

When I ultimately did sell a ton of art that day, it was like a confirmation from the universe that I’d made the right choice – that this was the approach to take.


I’ve been going through my print inventory and pulling the stuff that doesn’t represent me as I’d like to be represented. A lot of those pieces still resonate with me; they just don’t look good. So I’m taking old concepts and putting them into new paintings and drawings.

That’s something I wouldn’t have done in the past. I thought that every piece of art was sort of a sacred artifact that should exist exactly as it did when I first made it. But reusing a concept doesn’t erase the old artwork. It just means it’s also a part of something new. I’ve always thought it was sort of hacky when artists reused concepts repeatedly but this isn’t that. It’s not that black and white. I can recycle an idea into something better and it doesn’t mean I’m some one-hit-wonder just playing the same song again and again. Upcycling a few old things that I love isn’t the same as churning out a thousand variations of my one “hit” piece.

Although – even if I was doing that: who gives a shit? As long as I’m doing what I wanna do – fuck everything else.

I’m glad I chose to upcycle the concept from “Free/Toothpaste” for this bowl I was commissioned to paint because it’s been a great reminder that I need to GET FREE. I need to not worry so much about all this shit and just make art. Whatever art I want. And it doesn’t matter if I reuse an old concept or it’s not THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER MADE. So long as it looks cool, is real, and meaningful, that’s enough. (Especially for a small, commissioned, piece of art).


Following what happened to me in 2015, I’m having trouble fully subscribing to my (once) guiding principle – that “everything works out exactly as it should.” But I think everything works out – at least a lot better – when I do. When I just have faith that things will work out, so long as I’m doing my best.

Although that probably still includes brushing my teeth periodically.


I’m calling this piece: “Free from Expectations, Shoes, and Toothpaste” and adding it to my inventory as a 4×6-inch print, as a replacement for “Free (From Shoes, Expectations, and Toothpaste),” which will no longer be available for purchase. I mean, if you really fucking love the old one for some reason, I still have a few prints, so hit me up and I’ll sell you one, but the new one is much cooler and easily available in the webstore.

And seeing as it’s December 12th, let’s go ahead and throw out a promo code for Christmas and Hanukkah. Use the promo code CH1320 to get 20% off any order, now through the end of Hanukkah (the last day of which is January 2nd). Cool? Coooooool.

As always, thanks for reading.


Sammy thrashLife Goes to Springfield

“Sammy thrashLife Goes to Springfield.” 1/15/15. Acrylic and spray paints. 12×12″.

You’ve likely seen this before. I even made a video about it last month. But I’d never written out a statement to go along with the prints I sell so… HERE YOU GO:


I started dating Heather as I was preparing to “graduate” from Tranquil Shores, re-enter the world, and take a stab at making a living as an artist. Before she’d met me, she’d already made plans to move to Jacksonville. So that’s what I did. And that’s why Jacksonville was the first city I tried to market myself in.

I had no idea where to even start but “traditional advertising” was never gonna be part of my playbook. The first thing I did was to make stickers out of the drawing that I’d eventually use as my sorta default insignia. Apart from that, they said something about BPD, not being on heroin, and making art. I put them on payphones (because those were still a thing that just barely existed then), telephone poles, and anyplace else I figured they’d get noticed.

One of the first people to contact me after seeing one of those stickers was a local artist named Mike Kelly (later “Mikey twoHands”). I don’t think he was really trying to be a professional artist but he really loved making art and he’d occasionally try to sell stuff locally at DIY art fairs and swaps. He reached out to tell me he liked the sticker and – as we got to know each other – it turned out that he really loved my dedication to making art around the clock and spending any other time trying to market or sell it. We became really close and started hanging out all the time. And through him, I met a lot of other locals in the arts community.

For a regular job, he ran sound at a bar/small venue called Rain Dogs. So even when he had to go into work, I’d go with him and set up a display to sell my prints to whoever turned out to see whichever bands were playing that night.

Some of my best memories are of running around Jacksonville with Mike, making and selling art. It was the time period in which I really figured out how to successfully market myself as an artist on a daily basis and make a living. He was so inspired by my drive and I was in turn inspired by his excitement.

After a while, I became too ambitious for Jacksonville alone and decided to try to conquer as many cities as I could. I got myself a van and TOOK MY SHOW ON THE ROAD. But I’d still come back to Jacksonville every so often, whenever there’d be a big event at which I knew I could make money. The city’s (now defunct) One Spark festival still holds the record as my most profitable event ever for selling prints.

On one of those return trips to Jacksonville, Mike got the idea of wanting to make a painting in my style and pitched me on making one in his. I knew it wouldn’t fit in with my other work and wouldn’t really be something I could sell in a gallery, kinda wanted to only focus on art like that, but agreed ‘cause of FRIENDSHIP.

Mike’s art back then, like mine, pretty much followed a formula. He’d use spraypaint to make a backdrop, each piece would feature a cartoon character (sometimes one of his own creation but usually something taken from pop culture), and then there’d be a quote from the character or some other funny caption he came up with.

If I was gonna pull from pop culture, the only show that’d ever even occur to me is The Simpsons. I didn’t like the idea of directly copying someone else’s art though, so I decided to just paint myself in the style of The Simpsons’ animators. And then I’d need a quote to go with it.

As deeply as I’ve always related to Bart Simpson, the first quote that came to mind was from Moe the Bartender: “I’ve done stuff I ain’t proud of – and the stuff I am proud of is disgusting.” Not the most sincere or profound words to ever be found in my art, but funny. And this project was just for fun anyway. It made me smile, it make Mike happy – that’s good enough for me!

Admittedly, at the time, the quote was intended to be a reference to the outrageous sex stuff I’d often written about in my blog but a later event makes that topic less fun to get into these days. I hope, one day, I’ll be able to be my full authentic self again and not feel like I can’t write about everything in my life with honesty and humor. CROSS YOUR FINGERS FOR ME.


“…Springfield” is now available in the webstore. And if you’re reading this before November 30th, you can use the promo code LIVE to get 20% off your entire order.


So I Just Put This in My Head and the Blood Will Come Out?

“MFC 2.0″ 11/8/24. Pigment ink. 8×6”.

I have a lot of artwork from ten plus years ago (when I first started making art) that I still love conceptually but just looks terrible. I never liked the idea of recycling ideas but so much of that early stuff is still so exciting and meaningful to me and I hate the idea of just letting it disappear. At the same time, I certainly don’t wanna promote or advertise anything that looks bad or doesn’t represent me well. That line of thinking’s led me to reconsider my previous stance and become okay – even passionate – about the idea of taking some of my old concepts and making new artwork with them. One of those is already in the works as a major painting (and you can get a look at that process over on my TikTok) while others will be coming soon.

Speaking of TikTok, if you’re not already following me on there, I’ve been making four to seven videos for it every week – and have even started livestreaming on occasion. I know a lot of people have issues with TikTok (I certainly did/do) but if you wanna keep up with my process, I think it’s worth checking out.

Anyway, the drawing in today’s blog isn’t really a recycled idea because it’s more of an exact duplicate. There’s nothing wrong with the original “My Favorite Cartoon” but I want to make prints of it and don’t have a good photo or scan of the original from which to make them. All I’ve got is badly filtered, altered versions from Photoshop. Since I don’t wanna make prints from those, I simply redrew it.

For a more meaningful story, you can read the story behind the original drawing in my blog entry from August 22nd, 2013.

And if you want one of these prints, they’re now up for sale in my webstore. Or you can buy this “original” MFC 2.0 drawing by contacting me. (It’s since been sold).

Thanks as always for your time and attention. Your support means everything to me.


contact issues (last week or so)

Just a quick heads up: I discovered an issue with the contact page. If you’ve tried to contact me recently, I’m guessing it didn’t work. Anyway, it’s resolved now so – if you still need to reach me – NOW YOU CAN.

And SO LONG AS I’M POSTING AN UPDATE, I’ll mention that I now hate all social media EXCEPT FOR TIKTOK. I’ve been making a new video for it almost every single day for the last month, so if you wanna keep up with me, that’s now the best place to do so. Instagram and especially Facebook can fuck off forever. (DON’T GET ME STARTED).

I’ve been hard at work on a BRAND NEW PAINTING so I’ll update the blog when that’s finished or when I next write up a statement for one of the pieces that’s still missing one. In the meantime, like I said, FOLLOW ME ON TIKTOK. TIKTOK IS THE FUTURE. TIKTOK IS LIFE. ALL HAIL TIKTOK.

Oh – and today was my birthday. So go buy me/you a present in the print shop!

Love you all. TALK SOON.


Christian Love (The Grace of a Mountain Goat)

Apparently Proverbs 5:19 says: “Like a loving doe and a graceful mountain goat, Let her breasts satisfy you at all times; Be exhilarated always with her love.”

So… Christianity is fucking weird, you guys.

Then again, I sure could go for a nice girl with ]THE GRACE OF A MOUNTAIN GOAT and, like, really cool tits.

Anyone know how I’d go about getting baptized?
“”Christian Love (The Grace of a Mountain Goat)” 10/22/24. Pigment and alcohol inks. 8½x11″.

I stumbled across Proverbs 5:19 on the internet today. From the New American Standard Bible:

Like a loving doe and a graceful mountain goat, let her breasts satisfy you at all times; be exhilarated always with her love.

Some of the other translations aren’t quite as ridiculous but where’s the fun in that? My first reaction was only (ASSUMING MY READING OF THIS IS CORRECT): the Bible is much hornier than I realized! (Or at least remembered). I haven’t bothered to read the passages surrounding this for additional context, but it would seem to be about nothing more than ENJOYING BREASTS. If that’s not jarring enough, the fact that a line is somehow drawn to that from the grace of (of all things) a MOUNTAIN GOAT. …I can’t be the only one that finds this absurd, curious, and remarkably amusing.

My first draft didn’t have a girl’s head and the boobs were just slapped on the side of the goat’s body but, I figured, if THE BIBLE is gonna get horny with it, I might as well too. It’s much creepier this way!

And speaking of horny and creepy, I initially wanted to title this “Christian Girls” but…  that felt a little too horny even for me. Or rather, it felt too creepy for me at my age.

When I use the word “girls,” I’m talking about women approximately my own age. Maybe because I’m stuck in perpetual adolescence as a consequence of losing so many years to addiction, but the word “women” just feels strange to me. I feel awkward saying it. I’m not as uncomfortable with it as I am with the word “men,” which I really hate but – I’m at an age now where I’m gonna have to get used to it. Referring to my peers as “kids” worked a decade ago. Referring to my dates as “girls” worked a decade ago. But, today, someone might get the wrong idea, especially about “girls.”

Hey – what do you know? Seeing as all I’m presenting in this entry is a drawing that’s AS DUMB AS THEY GET, I was afraid I was gonna disappoint anyone who came here hoping for another overwrought story of mental illness and poor decisions but – CHECK ME OUT – I managed to get there all the same!

One last note (in case it doesn’t go without saying) “like, really cool tits” is not the way I talk (unless I’m trying to be funny). That’s me poking fun at the way God talks. (He wrote the Old Testament/Torah/Tawrat, right?)

“Let her breasts satisfy you at all times” – HILARIOUS!

Having said all of that, it’d be dishonest to not acknowledge that “there’s at least a grain of truth in every joke.” I mean, who wouldn’t go for a girl with the grace of a mountain goat and REALLY COOL TITS?

I’m only human. I’m just as God made me.


If you’d like to support me (even half as much as I’d like you to support me!) prints of “Christian Love (The Grace of a Mountain Goat)” are on sale now in the webstore. I mean, really you should probably buy one of my other prints but – hey – THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS and I won’t judge you. Thank you (as always) for your time and attention. Even for nonsense like this.


The elephant in my brain

Revisiting “Adventures Per Minute,” I felt compelled to write an addendum because I don’t love the way that it ends. After writing much of it though, I realized that these were words I’ve had in my head for years, as I continually postponed writing my statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From.” Rather than simply tack on to a ten year-old blog entry though, I decided to give this its own space. Here it is.


APM addendum

I’m very tempted to remove (or at least change) these last two paragraphs [which are about a sexual experience involving some very aggressive role-playing]. That feels dishonest though. It would be disingenuous. Because I don’t actually think there’s anything wrong with them; I’m just afraid of how they might influence strangers’ perception of me. And I shouldn’t let that corrupt or influence my art.

I would never actually sexually assault or hurt someone, nor would I get off on it. It would make me physically sick. There’s a difference between playing pretend and reality.

I’ve always felt confident that my willingness to share all the darkest, most private parts of my self (through my art and writing) would be all the evidence anyone would need to know exactly what kind of person I am. Sometimes emotionally erratic, occasionally petty or spiteful but – above all – deeply sensitive, empathetic, and caring. Vulnerable to depression and hopelessness, but – just as often – filled with joy and light, ridiculously silly, generally optimistic, and too trusting for my own good.

If there are people in the world who want to believe otherwise about me, that’s their business – not mine – and I can’t let my fear paralyze me. Not anymore. I already lost nearly eight years of my life to that. It’s time to be brave and that means living (as I did back when I made “Adeventures Per Minute”) with my whole truth. Sharing everything, hiding nothing. That’s what made my work powerful (and popular) in the first place – even if it did eventually hurt me.


As mentioned up top, it occurs to me that much of what I just wrote is part of what I’ve been putting off as I continue delaying the writing of my statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From.” It’s been six months now since I’ve been clean and making art again, and I’m starting to feel a little steadier. I recently wrote the statement for “Sorry for Overdosing in Your Bathroom” (another one I’d been putting off for similar reasons). But “Things You Can’t” is on a whole other level. That painting is about the single most traumatic episode of my life. I’m committed to finally writing its statement soon. Absolutely before the year’s end. (I will tell the whole story). In any case, I really only mention this (1) as explanation for why this addendum kind of dances around something without fully addressing it; and (2) for the very trivial reason of: Please don’t be annoyed with me if some of what you’ve just read gets repeated, whenever I do write/publish the blog entry for “Things You Can’t.”


In closing, a quick acknowledgment: I want to thank everyone who’s stuck with me. Not only through the years of relapse and inactivity, but through that life-shattering event in 2015. I won’t even try to describe the nightmare of that experience; just know that your trust in me and your continued support means more than I could ever put into words. I did not get it from everyone. Without you, there’s not the slightest chance that I would still be breathing today.


Sorry for Overdosing in Your Bathroom

“Sorry For Overdosing in Your Bathroom” 3/8/19. Acrylic paint. 20×20″.

Wallis and I both wanted to get clean. To get myself through the worst of the withdrawals, I took a fair bit [okay, a SHIT TON] of Xanax to keep myself as close to unconscious as possible. The next morning I woke up and Wallis was gone. She’d decided to go for inpatient detox but I was too out of it for her to communicate that to me. Being the loving and thoughtful person that she is, she’d arranged for a friend of ours (Whitney) to be there when I finally came to, to explain everything to me. But when I first regained consciousness, I was so out of it that I thought Whitney was Wallis. For a while. It really had to be explained to me. Several times. 

When Whitney did finally manage to get through to my drug-addled brain, I flipped out. I felt totally abandoned and upset and hopeless and – honestly, it doesn’t really matter. I was so fucked up on Xanax that I wasn’t myself anyway.

For those that don’t have experience overdosing on Xanax, it’s not the kind of drug that will kill you on its own. So you can take dozens of pills but – unless you introduce alcohol or another drug into the mix – you’re not going to die. At insanely high doses though, you will begin to behave like a RAGING lunatic. (Particular emphasis on “raging”).

What I did next is unlike anything I’d ever before done in my life. I took a knife and slashed through all of my paintings. And my biggest painting – the mammoth 12×8-foot piece hanging across the entirety of the living room wall – well, I set that one on fire. And then for good measure, I took our 50-inch TV and threw it through the closed living room window into the front yard. So Whitney now had glass and fire and a lunatic to contend with. Well, glass and fire; I jumped on my motorcycle and sped off.

Darting all over town in my drug-addled haze, it’s a miracle I didn’t crash that bike and lose a limb (or worse). I had a SHOPPING LIST to quietly, painlessly end my life. An overdose quantity of heroin should get the job done on its own; added to all the Xanax in my system would make it a sure thing. And just for good measure, I’d also chug as much alcohol as I could stomach (just before shooting up – and in the time before I lost consciousness). Having thrown all my syringes away in preparation for the detox/getting clean, I’d also need to find one of those.

Once I had all of my supplies, I needed someplace that I could actually do this. My house likely had a police presence following the fire and chaos. Or – at the very least – a Whitney. I needed somewhere that no one would try to stop me or find me soon enough afterward that my life could be saved. Where does that leave? You can’t go to a friends’ house. They’re not going to let you overdose and die. You can’t go really anyplace public; someone’s liable to see you and call 911.

Sun-Ray Cinema. Any other business, I’d be found, but Sun-Ray had a screening room with an entrance right by their front door. I could slip in without anyone even realizing I’d entered the building. And – in the back of that screening room – a bathroom that had only recently been renovated. This meant none of the customers even knew it was there. The only way anyone would find me in time is if an employee just happened to decide to use it in the short window that it would take me to do my shot and stop breathing. How many people were even on staff that day? Two? Three? And they’d almost certainly use the bathrooms in the main lobby or theater.

As recently as a few months prior, I’d considered Sun-Ray’s owner and proprietor one of my best friends. We’d had a falling out but – even still – I felt guilty pulling him, his wife/Sun-Ray partner, and their staff (some of whom I also considered friends) into my death. But it was the only viable option I could think of.

I got to the theater and snuck inside without issue. Once in the bathroom, I realized that my plan wasn’t quite as solid as I’d thought. The bathroom, of course, had a light. But unlike the lights in the main bathrooms, this one was kept off unless someone was using it. Even with the door shut, in the dark hall, it was clear when the light in the bathroom was on. Still, it was rare for anyone to come back there at all. It was in a hallway behind a curtain in the back of the screening room. The only other thing off the hall was a small office that only needed to be accessed briefly when a movie was set to begin. I hoped that the next showing was still a ways off or that – even if it weren’t – that no one would think anything of the bathroom light being left on.

I gulped down as much alcohol as I could stand. (Turns out it was a Sunday and the liquor stores were closed, so I’d had to settle for the highest ABV thing I could find: a bottle of wine). Even still, with the amount of Xanax in my system, I figured even wine should be enough to kill me. (Alcohol and Xanax are a surprisingly lethal combination). Next, I prepped my shot with enough heroin (actually, fentanyl) to kill god-knows-how-many regular people (and still ten times even my regular dose). I found a vein and pushed the plunger down the barrel. I picked the bottle back up and started chugging as the dope made its way through my bloodstream.

It was only a matter of seconds before I’d lose consciousness and it seemed no one had noticed the light being on yet. Certainly no one had knocked. I was set. Even if someone came along now, it was doubtful they’d act with any sense of urgency. By the time they realized the door was locked from the inside, found the key, and come back, I’d be dead.


It was three or four days later when I woke up in the hospital with no memory of what had happened after I’d injected in the Sun-Ray bathroom. (To this day, I don’t know). In any case, it must be that I didn’t write a suicide note, because there was no psychiatric hold on me. I was treated like just another accidental overdose patient. As soon as I was able to stand, they were processing my discharge. I made some phone calls from the hospital phone. Wallis, Whitney – and I think Tim and Shana at Sun-Ray. I don’t really remember. Within the hour though, I was back out on the street, borrowing a stranger’s phone, and calling my dealer.


This painting was started after I got clean, interrupted by my second relapse, and then finished in Round 3 (2019). The overdose which inspired its title, however, happened all the way back in 2016. I’ve not been excited to tell the story – hence the delay.

Several small-print journals in the painting don’t strike me as terribly important or interesting at this point in time. In the bottom left though, it says: “Sometimes I bumout about being such a fuck-up, but – if I weren’t – I wouldn’t be able to make (authentic) rad shit like this painting.”

I’m not sure that that quite balances out but – I am who I am. My history is just that – it’s happened. Nothing will change what I’ve put myself, or anyone else, through.

Though in case it doesn’t go without saying – intentionally ridiculous title aside – I really am, genuinely, very SORRY FOR OVERDOSING IN YOUR BATHROOM. I imagine, at the time, it came across as an act of spite, but it really was merely an act of desperation. It had nothing to do with you; yours was just the place where I felt I had the best chance. And probably, in some twisted sense, where I felt safest. I’m sorry that I, very selfishly, let that outweigh what should have been my consideration for your welfare.

And the same goes to anyone else I’ve ever put in a similar position, only to then mine that trauma for humor or insight, for the sake of art. I work with a LIMITED PALETTE, trying to make the most of what I’ve got and spin it into something better.

It’s kind of all I know how to do.

I hope you (still) like it.


This painting was sold years ago but there are 12×12-inch prints on sale in the webstore while supplies last. Buy one and you’ll be funding my continued existence, artwork, and writing for at least two more days!