Rainbows and Puppy Dogs

February 2, 2015

"Rainbows and Puppy Dogs." 1/3/15. Acrylic paint. 10x8".
“Rainbows and Puppy Dogs.” 1/3/15. Acrylic paint. 10×8″.

The statement for this piece was written two and a half weeks ago (on January 13, 2015) and is proof that I’m really terrible at predicting my own future.

Coming out of my tumultuous autumn relationship in Chicago, I guess you could say I was kind of a wreck when I got back to Florida. And although the circumstances of the day it happened were somewhat unusual, it certainly didn’t seem like much of a coincidence for me to relapse so quickly. I started this new painting before I even had a week clean. And while the general premise of the painting is one that I’ve had in my head for months, the rest reflects the time in which it was painted.

Here’s how I spent December: I came down to Miami with Nicole; shipped her back to Chicago ahead of schedule and cancelled my pseudo-plan to return to the Midwest to reunite with her anytime in the at-all-immediate-future; I went to Jacksonville to rekindle my relationship with Heather; Heather declined to immediately jump back into it with me, saying she wanted to take it slow; I drove down to Palm Beach County for another one of my drug-addled ex-girlfriend rescue missions; I relapsed; I went to Sarasota and started painting this (the initial sub-caption was “nothing ever quite goes my way” but I later painted over that); I returned to Jacksonville, where Heather was now interested in picking up the pace but I, nevertheless, proceeded to start fucking up a storm; I started to feel better and I wrote a new sub-caption, incorporating the title: “Life can’t always be RAINBOWS AND PUPPY DOGS but I guess it goes my way often enough. (I certainly have a lot of sex at people).”

By the time it was finished on January 3rd, I definitely didn’t feel like “nothing ever quite goes my way.” I mean, how could I think that when I’m fucking a different girl every night? That sure seems like things going my way. And, honestly, while being promiscuous isn’t always the most fulfilling, in this case – right now – I’m pretty happy. Maybe it’s ‘cause I got so much other stuff going on with my art and ‘cause I’ve been so productive lately and ‘cause I’m not in a dysfunctional relationship anymore but… I’ve been on a pretty good streak of happy lately. And all the sex (and feeling attractive and desirable) is most definitely bolstering that. It’s a big part of it.

Heather and I hit the pause button on our relationship a week ago and are planning to talk about it / evaluate our feelings tomorrow. In writing this (and revealing the extent of my recent promiscuity) I’m almost certainly going to be destroying what little shot we had left together but maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen. I’m also seeing another girl with whom there’s been no discussion of exclusivity but who – nevertheless – probably won’t be super excited to read this. I’m supposed to meet up with her tonight and am planning on putting all the cards on the table with her as well.

So now that I think about it, I really shouldn’t publish this until I’ve had these two conversations. And I won’t. Which is to say: by the time you’re reading this, I’ll have already had those two discussions and there’s a good chance that I’ll have inadvertently hurt a lot of feelings and will be feeling pretty shitty about myself. Life’s definitely not gonna feel like puppies and rainbows by this time tomorrow but I guess that’s okay but – fuck – why does love have to be so exclusive? Why do the concepts of love and sex have to be so inextricably connected? Why can’t I be in one (or two) relationships and still have sex with other people?

WHY CAN’T I JUST HAVE EVERYTHING THAT I WANT?

It sounds so dumb when I put it that way – like I’m such a spoiled little brat – but, shit… I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be nice?

Rainbows and puppy dogs, right?

 

 

 

So – as I mentioned – that statement was written in early January. If you’ve been following me, you probably have an idea of how it all played out. I told both girls that I was sleeping around and couldn’t be exclusive. And then last week, while on a date with a girl I met at my art show, I fell in love with one of that girl’s friends and wound up in an exclusive relationship. (That in itself is kind of a funny story but I’ll get to that later).

Coming very soon: images of (and statements for) three new works, including two from late last year that are among my biggest to date. We’re talking giant pieces with long, detailed, embarrassing, fucked up stories. I’m excited!

Fun fact: I first tried to paint “Rainbows and Puppy Dogs” in the spring of 2014, got frustrated with my inability to paint a dog, went in another direction, and wound up with this piece.

Bad Things Happen (to Kids That Fuck)

November 17, 2014

"Bad Things Happen (to Kids That Fuck)." 8/11/14. Ink. 5x7".
“Bad Things Happen (to Kids That Fuck).” 8/11/14. Ink. 5×7″.

Whether we’re talking VD, getting slashed to pieces by a hockey-masked killer, or EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT, it’s clear that bad things happen to kids that fuck.

I’m pretty pleased with how clever that title and I are but this piece is kind of shitty. Like the others in this series, it’s pretty angry and that bums me out. This one’s about trust; it says:

I think it’s strange when people are inherently untrusting of others. Your mom said you shouldn’t trust me. Which is funny ‘cause I put my trust in most everyone but have grown to trust you less and less. I can’t remember the last time I came to be suspicious of so many of the things someone said to me. I don’t think you’re a bad person; I don’t think you have ill intent. But you’re so guarded, it makes you dishonest. It sucks.

The relationship with the girl detailed in these four drawings ended in August but I’m sad to report that my distrust didn’t. I carried it forward with me into my next relationship. In the past, if the girl I was dating wanted to go out to do something I wasn’t interested in, my response was simply “have fun – see you when you get home.” I don’t wanna be solely responsible for anyone’s social life anyway and I value time to myself. So when she goes out without me, we both win. In my last relationship though…

(Actually, let me just take a moment to cut the shit. I left Chicago a week ago but this relationship that I “walked away from” is ongoing; it’s not over).

So in my current relationship, I’ve responded differently. When Nicole wants to go out, I get suspicious. I’m afraid there’s something going on. That she’s going to be flirting with someone or worse. Has she done things that have sparked jealousy or suspicion? Sure. But she hasn’t ever actually done anything to warrant distrust. Which means that my jealousy and suspicion aren’t really justified. And that sucks. I don’t want to be some “jealous boyfriend.” That’s never been me in the past and it’s not who I wanna be now.

This isn’t the kind of distrust or the kind of lies to which this drawing refers but that shit doesn’t feel relevant anymore so I’d rather write about what is. It’s all the same anyway insofar as not being able to believe the things someone says to you is awful. And like I said, I’m so accustomed to just trusting everyone, having faith in people, and assuming the best that my newfound distrust is especially disconcerting. It’s negatively impacted my entire outlook.

I don’t really know what’s going to happen with Nicole and I, but I am going back to Chicago on Thursday. If we try to give it another go, I’m going to ignore my negative impulses and just put my trust in her. I’m going to have to have faith in her. If it doesn’t work out though – for whatever reason – I think maybe my next relationship ought to be with someone where trust comes more naturally. That is, assuming I’m not totally broken and that I’m still capable of real, genuine trust. At this point, the problem may not have anything to do with anyone but me. I genuinely don’t know one way or the other.

 

When Nicole and I first started seeing each other, I recycled this drawing’s title to caption a photo that I posted on Instagram.

skyfactory

The caption read: “Sexy adventures in creepy abandoned waterfront factories. (BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO KIDS THAT FUCK). My life is awesome.”

Here’s to hoping my legal problems and relationship issues are soon resolved and that statement becomes true again.

I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!

November 15, 2014

"I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!" 8/11/14. Ink. 6x6".
“I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!” 8/11/14. Ink. 6×6″.

The four drawings in this series were all completed following (what I guess I’d call) a “break-up.” We weren’t officially dating but we spent virtually every night together for a month straight. I was the one to end the relationship but I wasn’t happy about it. I don’t think I even realized it at the time but – in hindsight – it’s hard not to recognize that I was outright mad. At what exactly, I’m not sure. At the time, it was easy to fault her drinking for all of our relational issues but (while I definitely think it was a factor) I think my own emotional insecurity and low self-esteem was just as much (probably more) to blame. Maybe that’s what I was so mad about – my inability to feel okay in a relationship. The slightest bit of criticism or the slightest disagreement would push me over the edge and I’d find myself instantly packing my things until she was able to soothe, comfort, and calm me. The night she was too drunk to manage (or too drunk to care) was the night I finally left for real.

This is the angriest of the four drawings – the one in which I really get mean. It says:

What about any of this [me, my lifestyle, my personality disorder] made you think that I’m boyfriend material? Enjoy me for what I am or don’t.

I don’t wanna come across as one of those “I wouldn’t belong to any club that’d have me as a member”-types but – seriously – if you wanna date me, something is seriously wrong with you. Your emotional issues are worse than mine and that’s saying something.

If your past is littered with broken friendships, there’s a reason your past is littered with broken friendships. It’s got nothing to do with the universe. It’s YOU. It’s the people YOU choose to surround yourself with. It’s the way you behave and the kind of people that behavior attracts.

I’m a bit of a broken fuck-up but I’m not so broke to stick around for this. You could’ve chosen to be better. You’re on the precipice. You chose not to. You chose old habits.
Enjoy “drinking [your] dinner.” It makes me sad but not that sad.

I finally understand all those straight edge songs on the radio!

For those of you keeping score at home, here’s the “Hindsight’s 20/20 Recap.” 1) When I got to Chicago, I was in no fucking shape to be any kind of a partner to anyone. 2) We attract (and are attracted to) people who are about as emotionally healthy/sick as we are. 3) I thought I was leaving because I was too well for this girl but we were probably at just about the same level. 4) I might be flighty and insecure but drinking (as a coping mechanism) sucks and will only ever make everything worse; it precludes so much as the initiation of any real, lasting solution.

 

It’s worth pointing out that this drawing was finished in August and the relationship to which it refers is not the one I bailed on last week. (This one ended a day and a half before that one started).

I Work Hard For the Money

October 13, 2014

"I Work Hard For the Money." 8/11/14. Ink. 8x6".
“I Work Hard For the Money.” 8/11/14. Ink. 8×6″.

A friend made a joke that hurt my feelings. I put my response in a drawing.

If you wanna make me angry, suggest that I’m lazy or somehow less than self-sufficient. My job is emotionally fucking taxing. Every day that I’m not getting more famous feels like some kind of a failure. I’m in the business of trying to convince strangers that I’m extraordinary. It’s a fragile position to be in.

It’d be easy to say that your desk job is an easy, coward’s way out but I’m not gonna ’cause I couldn’t do that shit. But don’t tell me that I have it easier on the streets, selling my story and my essence to people that – 9 times outta 10 – don’t even wanna make eye contact with me.

You don’t got it any harder or any better than me; it’s just different. I don’t shit on your desk; don’t act like you’re better than me. You’re just more stable. If you think my job is easier then – by all means – there’s plenty of room in the marketplace.

This was one in a series of four drawings that I made two months ago. I realized last week that I’m angry. And that I have been for some time now. Back when I was still on heroin (and all throughout my life even before that) I had a really terrible temper. By the time I got out of Tranquil Shores though, I had learned to control it. And – honestly – I don’t even really think I needed to control it at that point. It’d flare up occasionally but, for the most part, I was happy enough that things didn’t get to me the way that they always had in the past. I’m realizing that that’s no longer the case and this drawing is evidence that it’s been that way since (at least) mid-summer. I’m hyper-sensitive and it’s fucking up my life. I think I need regular counseling again and (as much as I hate the idea) I’m even considering new medication.

On another note, my legal situation remains unresolved and I am (consequently) still accepting online orders to help with my legal expenses. Check out my GoFundMe page for more info.

The World Can Be Cold and Mean But I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway

September 22, 2014

"The World Can Be Cold and Mean But I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway." 8/13/14. Acrylic paint. 60x40".
“The World Can Be Cold and Mean But I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway.” 8/13/14. Acrylic paint. 60×40″.

I’m facing felony charges for possession of a controlled substance. These are not old charges pending from my days on heroin; I was arrested earlier this month for possession of Adderall, the prescription medication I’ve been on for nearly ten years. Adderall is one of those meds that can’t be refilled with a phone call each month. The patient has to actually go in to the doctor’s office for an appointment every thirty days, physically pick up the prescription, and bring it to the pharmacy. My prescription lapsed before I found a doctor, here in Chicago, and a friend with a prescription gave me a few pills to hold me over until I could get my own. (I have an appointment with a new doctor tomorrow but – a little late).

My case is still pending but the offer from the state that’s currently on the table includes two years of supervised probation, a shit ton of fines and fees, community service, and enrollment in a substance abuse treatment program. Everyone can always benefit from counseling but, these days, I get invited to speak at substance abuse treatment facilities; I don’t need to be a patient in one.

At the moment, I’m optimistic about a resolution to my case but don’t necessarily have any reason to be. For a while, it looked like the state was actually going to push for a conviction and, possibly, even a jail sentence. No one (defense lawyers included) seems to care that I’m not actually abusing drugs or that my entire life and career are pretty much based on that fact. No one cares that I help other people suffering with addiction and other mental illnesses, on a daily basis, both directly and through my art and writing. In the eyes of the court, I’m just some faceless degenerate that got busted with some pills. Just to get released on bail, I had to pay $1,025 in cash. Getting that money together (without even being allowed access to my bank account) through collect calls in a city three hours from anywhere that I know anyone was not an easy thing to do. Being stuck in Illinois, on probation in Normal, is not conducive to what I’m doing with my life. Two years of criminal fines are not in the budget. And god forbid I somehow fuck up, get tagged with a “violation of probation” and actually get put in jail after all. I’m caught up in a shitty, unfeeling system that doesn’t care about me and it hurts and it’s scary.

This was the last painting I finished before my arrest so the journal written on the canvas isn’t actually about this situation but … it seems even more relevant now than it was when I wrote it.

My world gets pretty dark some days. I try to smile, try to have fun, encourage other people to do the same but sometimes the world just spits at you. At me. Negativity is poisonous and infectious. I don’t let tragedy beyond my immediate vicinity affect me these days but a single mean word directed my way can still obliterate me.

I understand why people kill themselves and I don’t fault them for it but, today, I’m gonna try my best to not succumb to my darker impulses. I’m gonna listen to pop punk songs with my friend, Chris, and I’m gonna walk into five galleries, bare my soul, and try to get my funny faces and emotional instability up on their walls. I believe in myself and what I do and if you don’t get it or you don’t like me, that’s nothing I need to focus my energy on.

The world can be cold and mean but I’m gonna try to do my best anyway.

This painting already sold but BEAUTIFUL 12×18-inch prints are available in the webstore. They’re one of my favorites.

Love Letter

September 8, 2014

"Love Letter." 7/2/14. Ink. 14x11".
“Love Letter.” 9/2/14. Ink. 14×11″.

The main body of text says:
Okay – so I’m makin’ this in the car so it’s gonna be sloppy. I forgot to get you a California souvenir but that’s okay ’cause I figured it’d be cute/funny to just pick something up on the ride back. It’s a keychain. I think it says “Kansas City Wildcats” but I forget and I might have lost it already, even though I just bought it five minutes ago. BUT (since I like you) I figured I owe you one better than that. And I don’t ever make free art for ANYONE anymore so I thought it’d be real sweet of me to do that. It’s fucked up but I already had the thought that – the next time I make a gesture like this (presumably for some other girl) it’s not gonna mean as much. [That’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to say in a “love letter” / piece of art dedicated/for the girl you like]. That’s okay. That’s me. Maybe I’ll leave Chicago next week, maybe never. Maybe you won’t like me anymore tomorrow and it won’t even matter where I am in relation to you. Also, you’re twenty so whatever (“forever“). Here are some funny faces. They are SYMBOLIC of the crush I have on you.

After that, there are a couple smaller bits of text. First:
This is more honest and less cool than it should be, so you don’t like me too much. But if that’s my intention, why am I making it at all? OOOOOHHHH – I’m so complex!

Second:
Between this and the love song Chris and Mike are listening to on the radio, I’ve decided that the whole enterprise of love letters is bullshit. It’s all ego and vanity. Or maybe this song just sucks and I’m self-absorbed. I don’t know but your smile makes me really happy sometimes.

So there you have it. A Sammy thrashLife love letter. More about me than it is about the object of my affection but just charming enough to sort of perform its function. Equal parts “fall in love with me” and “don’t get too invested.” One thing’s certain: it’s definitely a thing that exists.

Have Sex With and/or Buy Art From Me

September 7, 2014

"Have Sex With and/or Buy Art From Me." 7/1/14. Acrylic paint and duct tape on canvas. 22x28".
“Have Sex With and/or Buy Art From Me.” 7/1/14. Acrylic paint and duct tape on canvas. 22×28″.

I painted this immediately after “Something to Cry About” so a lot of the sentiment is pretty similar. Unlike that painting, the journals on this canvas are clearly visible. Three in particular.

From June 21st, in Minneapolis for the CBDS show:
Some days (today, for example) I feel like I’m slipping. Regressing. Losing it. Getting less brave. More anxious. If I’ve already peaked, then you can bet I’m gonna bottom out like never before. I won’t live in the middle. My inadequacy and self-pity are really showing here. I know it. It doesn’t elude me.

June 22nd, still in Minneapolis:
I was driving so I had time to steep in my anxiety. And to find the perfect phrasing to express it with maximum, wit, precision, and insight toward achievement of my twin goals, as ever, of course: HAVE SEX WITH AND/OR BUY ART FROM ME. ‘Cause that’s gonna fix me. That’s the validation I need to know that I’m okay. Why have I been getting so down on myself lately? I’m scared that I’m in a rut – not creatively – but these last two months there’ve been no developments, big breaks, or major sales / floods of income. And it hasn’t lit a fire under me. I’ve grown weaker, timid. I hit galleries but I don’t storm them with a painting and my confidence. I meekly hand over a card – and only if they engage with me. I set up to sell prints but I don’t draw people to me. I wait for them. It’s the same lately with girls. I do the bare minimum to spark interest and then nothing. I let it go nowhere. Because I know that’s where it’ll end anyway. Because I have no interest in anyone but myself. I just want to be loved. I want someone to make me feel okay. (Until I get that and dismiss it). And the girls I talk to might love my art but that doesn’t necessarily translate to any interest in or affinity for me personally. I CAN RELATE.

Finally, July 1st, in Cincinnati:
I withdrew a thousand dollars from my bank account this morning to buy heroin and a gun. So you’ll have to forgive me for not giving a shit about the Supreme Court’s Hobby Lobby ruling.

Between their content and my statement for “Something to Cry About,” there’s not much to add regarding the first two journals . The details of the third probably warrant some explanation, even though I feel it’s so trivial and boring that I’d really rather not (but, consequently, feel like I should).

I was all set to join up with Rational Anthem as they toured out to California. I’d set up at their shows each night to sell prints, as a means to finance my own trip out west. It made more sense than just driving straight out and I’d get to spend some time with my friends. I met up with them in Lexington on the 30th though and – before the night was over – Hembrough told me we’d need to sit down and talk at some point about the logistics of our tour together out west. What was there to discuss, I thought. Rational would drive in their van, Spillane and I would drive in mine, and that was that. If they had room for us to stay the night wherever they were staying, we’d take them up on it. If not, we’d find our own place to sleep. I know I overreacted but the way Hembrough had put it (“we need to talk”) made me feel like maybe I wasn’t welcome after all – like I was some kind of a burden. It hurt my feelings at a time when my feelings weren’t doing too great anyway. He and Spillane are my two best friends in the world but it sounded like he was less excited to have me along than he was concerned. I suddenly felt like there was no place for me in the world. I went to bed, hoping to feel better in the morning. I didn’t. I asked Spillane what city he wanted me to drop him off in, told him I’d give him some money to get set up, and that I needed to “do my own thing” for a while. And that’s when I went to the bank for step one of my plan. Fortunately, it didn’t take me too long to snap out of it. As soon as it was time to actually make a serious move toward execution, I started to come to my senses. “Never mind,” I told Chris. “We’re not gonna go with Rational Anthem anymore but if you still want to travel with me for this art thing, you’re welcome to stay.” He said he did and asked where we were gonna go. “I don’t know. Let’s go buy some fucking cigarettes, get some coffee, and just see what happens.”

Nine hours later, we were getting ready to go into the Masked Intruder / Dopamines / Direct Hit! show in Cincinnati, to sell prints. I scrolled through Facebook and read my friends’ outrage over that morning’s Hobby Lobby ruling. It struck me as so tremendously trivial and absurd, especially against what felt like the now darkly comic backdrop of my morning. I told Spillane for the first time what my real plan for the day had been and then I confessed to the rest of the world by means of a marker taken to my t-shirt and an Instagram shot. I started to feel a little better with my secret off my chest when who should walk up but Hembrough and Rational Anthem. (They had a show in Cincinnati that night too). We talked it all out, he assured me that I was welcome and wanted, and I went into the Masked Intruder show feeling pretty at peace with it all. The show was fun, I sold a few prints, and – after both shows were over – Spillane and I met up with the Rational and Dead North crews at some diner. As soon as we walked in, everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to me. It wasn’t my birthday; I guess they just suspected that I needed it. And I guess I did. It was silly but it made me feel really loved.

Rational Anthem are trying to raise money to buy a new tour van and are offering some really great rewards in exchange for your financial contributions. And if you donate $50 and choose “no reward,” I’ll send you a signed and numbered print of the Sammy thrashLife piece of your choice. At the very least check out the video they made, which I “storyboarded” / sort-of-directed via text message.


Check out their campaign and see if you can spot my voice anywhere else.

October 18th, 2024 update: This painting got an update of sorts back in 2016. It’s currently hanging in my home. Contact me if you’d prefer for it to hang in yours. Or you can buy an 11×14-inch print from the webstore.

Archives

© 2012-2024

Gallery · Blog · $ · Info · Contact

WordPress Di Blog Theme