I used to care about stuff. These days, whenever I hear someone railing on about how this or that is bullshit or a scam or [whatever], I just kinda roll my eyes. “Get some real problems,” I’ll think. “Isn’t there anything going on in yourown life worth being concerned about?” I’ve only got so much emotional capital and I’m definitely not investing it in some shit that has zero bearing on my day-to-day. And (of course) I’ve got my own principles, but I’m not about to start preaching to other people about what they ought to support, not support, believe, or not believe. Again – I GOT ENOUGH GOING ON RIGHT HERE. I don’t have the time or energy to waste on trying to change or influence somebody else. Besides, I’m pretty sure that the most positive effect I’ve ever had on the world has been through my art and my writing, which I do for my own benefit but which seems to positively impact other people as an added bonus.
On another note: I’VE BEEN FUCKING A LOT LATELY. I’m getting a lot of attention from girls. It’s probably going to my head a little bit. There are still plenty of times when I’ll catch a glimpse of my reflection and get pretty bummed out about the way that I look but for the most part I’m pretty pleased with myself these days.
I painted this while I was selling prints at the opening of a new art space in St. Augustine. It’s been a really long time since I spent less than ten hours on a painting, but I’m pretty sure I wrapped this one up within an hour or so. If I’m being honest, it was half expressive art and half “hey, girls! look at me! come talk to me!” Even still, I’m pretty happy with it.
I chose to use only the second half of my caption as the title because (by itself) it’s sexually suggestive but silly. That line underneath the body was originally meant just to distinguish one leg from the other but I left it as is ‘cause it kinda looks like it’s meant to be a dick. That works too.
—–
This painting is already up as part up my exhibit at Burrito Gallery in Jacksonville, FL. By tomorrow afternoon, it’ll also be available as a 12×16″ print.
Speaking of prints, I set up at Rain Dogs to sell last night (thanks to my buddy, Mike, who does art under the banner of Hood Rat Shit). I just found out that Chris Wollard and Jon Snodgrass are playing there tonight, so I might try to go back and do the same. Here are some photos from last night though.
“Art by Sammy thrashLife. Buy something or don’t. I live in a minivan – NOTHING MATTERS.”
Gauging by the Facebook/Instagram reaction, it seems that I find this sign to be FAR MORE HILARIOUS than most people do.
Snarkiness, pride, self-deprecation, vanity, whatever… all that shit aside – I really do have fun. And I really am grateful. I couldn’t ask for anything more than what I’ve got. And when I think about all the people that have been so supportive of me recently – personally or in just buying my work – it really is humbling. I feel like I’m in a pretty good state of being, even if it is a delicate balancing act sometimes.
“Modern Art is Stupid; Everything Is.” 1/12/14. Acrylic, spray, and watercolor paints, ink, oil pastels, food coloring, and charcoal. 60×40″.
Artist’s statement (revised 4/2/14):
This piece was started in the last week of December and finished in mid-January, during the final days of my relationship with Heather. There’s a lot of emotional back-and-forth in it. On New Year’s Eve, I wrote:
If you’ve never walked the train tracks alone on New Year’s Eve, singing along (badly) to a song only you can hear and maybe – just once, in the course of that walk – thrown a fist in the air… Well – I don’t envy you.
I DON’T EVEN LOOK OVER MY SHOULDER ANYMORE.
Hit the pavement, light another cigarette. Life is beautiful.
I just jumped in the air and laughed. I’ve never even heard this song before.
The joy I felt in that moment soon gave way to dejection. I was walking to meet Heather to go out for the night. Our outing only lasted fifteen minutes or so, before she got mad at me, and I walked home alone in a very different state of mind. Hembrough called me around 2 AM. He was walking home along the tracks back in Sarasota. I laughed. “What am I doing?” he asked me, “Why is this happening? Because punk rock told me so, I guess.”
The next morning, I was feeling drained of any and all spirit. I wrote out two lists:
THINGS THAT MADE ME CRY TODAY:
(1) A Facebook post about the rain
(2) A pop punk song about resilience
THINGS THAT MADE YOU CRY TODAY:
(1) Me
A few days later, I added more text: “It gets better, it gets worse, it gets better, it gets worse. As soon as it’s good enough, it isn’t. Why am I so sad?”
Another day or two passed and Rational Anthem sent me the demos of their new eight-song EP that they were gearing up to record. One song in particular fucking wrecked me. The chorus begins: “I can’t convince myself that I’m happy.“
Fuck. They nailed it.
The last lyric in the song repeats through the end. “Does it matter anyway?” I heard it differently though: “It doesn’t matter anyway.” If I had heard that song on New Year’s Day, I wouldn’t have just been crying, I’d probably have been bawling.
The song had a goofy working-title. ”No,” I told Chris. “There’s nothing fucking silly about this song. It needs a real, honest title.” I told him to call it, “I Wish I Could Be Happy.” He, Noelle, and Pete took me up on it so that’ll be the title when the record comes out. Since then, it’s also been decided that my watercolor painting/cartoon, “Autobiography,” will be used as the front cover for the record (recaptioned with the album’s title, “Emotionally Unavailable”). (Before I move past punk rock, I wanna note that the album I was listening to as I walked on NYE was “The Constant One” by Iron Chic, and the song referenced in my list is “The Shades of Grey” by The Murderburgers.
The text about it getting better and getting worse was originally the largest caption on the canvas, but I decided to relegate it to semi-obscurity by rewriting it in pen in the shadows. I blocked out that original caption with a series of primary-colored rectangles. I liked them but they reminded me of what I guess I’d call the proverbial “modern art.” I don’t like to be so negative or critical as to suggest that any art is stupid (after all, I have no idea what goes into it or why the artist is making it) but – if I’m being honest – when I look at most artwork, I have the same response that I think most people have to art:“Um… okay.” Basically, I don’t get it. I’m not sure why I should care. I mean, if the artist is getting something out of it, then I think that’s spectacular (genuinely!) but I don’t think that that necessarily makes it worth my time or attention. “Modern Art is Stupid; Everything Is” is reflective of that attitude as well as the bad / hurt feelings swirling around my relationship and my general state of being as I painted this. It’s also part self-deprecation. After all (IN CASE YOU CAN’T TELL), this piece is itself a work of modern art. (And – depending on who you ask – thoroughly stupid!)
All of this sort of adds up to one big jumbled mess of emotion and incident. That’s what happens when my work on some piece spans two or even three weeks. Struggling with whether or not I should break up with my girlfriend, trying to figure out if I’m happy, walking along train tracks, pop punk, modern art, being an artist. I don’t know what’s what. I summed it up with one last caption along the bottom of the canvas: “This is one of them MAGIC EYE paintings. Look close, at just the right angle, and you can see… how full of shit I am.”
Status update (2/22/14): Here are two photos of the painting, hanging in Ettra (the gallery in which it was sold).
I also got set up at Burrito Gallery in Jacksonville this week. I have twenty-one pieces on their wall right now, though I may add more. The exhibit will run through the first week of April.
I’m posting this from Chamblin’s Uptown. A few of my pieces are still up on the walls here, though I’ll be rearranging and adding more later in the week.
And I still have plenty of new pieces that I’ve yet to share online. I’ve been incredibly busy though so I’m going to hold off until I have time to write up proper statements to accompany them.
Anyway, things are going really well so far as all my art nonsense is concerned. Breaking my lease and moving into a van might not have seemed like the most sound game plan, but I couldn’t be happier with how things have been developing. Life’s been going a mile a minute and I’m just doing my best to keep up. I’ll be in Jacksonville until the show at Burrito Gallery ends and then I’ll head north to try and line up a show in a new city. The uncertainty and instability of my life can get scary at times but it’s also really exciting and – more than anything – I feel grateful. And I feel free. I don’t have to convince myself that I’m happy today; I just am.
My first beard got long enough that I was starting to feel like the grimy “homeless” kid that I sort of am. Here I am after trimming it last night, working on some graphic stuff at the laundromat.
“Poetry By Girls I’ve Brutally Fucked.” 2/7/14. Acrylic paint and ink. 12×24″.
I painted this as the front and back covers for a split 7-inch by Apocalypse Meow and Todd Congelliere, coming soon from Rad Girlfriend Records. It’s the first time I’ve done a commissioned piece in my regular/preferred expressive style instead of taking the more labored cartoon/comic approach.
The caption says: “I was talking to this girl I fucked pretty brutally. She said she wrote a poem about it. A poem about my fucking. That made me smile.”
I figured that might be a little much for a pop punk record so I replaced it with the band names for the actual record layout.
I hadn’t actually seen the poem yet when I made this, but I’ve read it since. Turns out it’s only partially about “my fucking.” It’s actually about way more than that and way more beautiful and affectionate and insightful than I feel like I deserve. It’s really great and – in that way – makes me feel kind of shitty, even though I didn’t do anything wrong. We had sex, it was fun; we hung out, it was fun; and then we repeated that cycle a few times. I guess friendship and fucking don’t really go together without feelings developing.
I’ve been sleeping around lately, getting involved with different girls to different degrees; I’m probably asking for trouble. I’m probably about to fuck myself – one way or another. There’s a lot more I could write about all that but I don’t wanna push myself to be too honest / transparent right now. That feels okay.
There’s this one girl – I wrote (what I guess I’d call) a long prose poem about her and about my experience with her in the week after we met. I’d developed feelings of my own for her [how novel!] But I was conscious of the fact that – this sort of thing – it does happen fairly often with me. I wrote a little bit about that as well:
I’ve got these fucking warm, fuzzy feelings for a lot of people. My male friends – I love them, I hug them, all that. But when I have these feelings for girls (it doesn’t matter how many) I love them and I also want to kiss them, sleep with them. I don’t think that’s wrong or weird but you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to have feelings for one person that are strong enough that you don’t even want to connect with another person in that way. That seems like bullshit.
I don’t know… maybe I’m just selfish. Love and sex are all twisted up and make for difficultly-navigable terrain. I just wanna love and fuck without being confused.
“The Most Efficient Path to Loneliness.” 1/22/13. Ink. 7¼x9½”.
I’m still outta town. Mechanical problems are slowing me down. Not sure when I’ll have them resolved. I still plan on hitting the other coast of Florida before heading back to Jacksonville but I don’t yet know when that will be. I had wanted to get to St Louis this weekend as well (to see The Transgressions reunion set at Stay Retarded). Doesn’t look like that’s within the realm of possibility anymore. Had told Ben I’d plug that set on here… not sure that this counts. Sorry, buddy. I know I’m a little late…
Before I left Jacksonville I was THISCLOSE to being done with my latest (and largest to date) painting. I’m kind of bummed that I’ve now been away from it for so long. I really wish it had been completed before I got on the road.
In the meantime, I’ve been working on other pieces. I finished one that was started more than a month ago. Another that began on the 4th. I even made some progress on a third that I had lost track of in November. Those will all go online soon enough (I really hate posting from the road on my phone and without the ability to get decent photographs or scans).
In the meantime, here’s a new one that I started on the 19th, while sitting out by the bay, late at night. I finished it just now, which seems sort of appropriate. It’s hard to explain (or maybe I just don’t want to). The feelings I’m feeling, the circumstances of that night and this one. I’m kind of dancing around my own insecurity. I think I got honest when I was scribbling but it’s hard to know sometimes. This whole week has been a strange experience and it’s only looking to get stranger in the coming days. There have been plenty of solid healthy (non-manic) emotional highs, absolutely no bottom-of-the-barrel-“time to kill myself” lows; there’s been good judgment, questionable judgment, self-improvement, honest reflection, self-delusion, avoidance; basically, I got the whole fucking gamut covered.
I wrote some shit “in between the lines” of my drawing. It touches on some of the above but it was pretty stream-of-consciousness and it’s way more representative of the moment tonight than it is of my trip as a whole (up to this point). It says…
Watch me fly. If you wanted to see me but didn’t, it’s your fault. Word has it that I’ve become a pretty great guy but might be completely sociopathic. I’m so full of hurt and evil. I try to do the right things. With mixed results.
I hurt a lot so I hurt a lot. It’s ’cause I hurt a lot. I hurt a lot. I hurt a lot.
I’m so melodramatic. I’m fucking fine (I think). Why do I wanna be this tragic fucking figure? Celebrity. Icon. Shining shooting fucking star. I’m so in love with myself. I’m so disgusted with myself. I’m ashamed. I’m a shame. I’m a joke. I’m okay. I’m everything I don’t wanna be. I’m living out my dream. I’m losing track of everything. This is how it’s supposed to be.
I’m never satisfied. I’m filled with pride. I’m lost. I might be home. This isn’t home. I might be home. I have no home. I’m cool with that. I’m done with this drawing. I think it’s done with me.
I’ve got this group show coming up and, last night, the organizers hosted a reception for the artists to meet each other. One girl was in another room most of the night but I did eventually get to know her a little bit when she asked if I’d like to sit down and draw with her. As it turns out, she just tagged along and isn’t actually participating in next week’s show. Although (while I’m not sure if she meant “professionally”) she did tell me that she’s an artist.
She ALSO told me that she has two nannas (who are both very nice), that Madelyn and Mikaylyn are twins (her favorite twin is both of them), and that she likes to make her own soup in her belly. Yeah, right. “How do you do that?” I asked incredulously. “I eat sweets and vegetables and that’s how I make my soup in my belly.” I had to concede. That’s a dynamite soup recipe if I’ve ever heard one.
So Marley’s pretty great and I’m not saying that just ’cause she gave me some of her drawings.
Is it just me or is this way too close-for-comfort to my art (considering it was drawn by someone who won’t be starting pre-kindergarten for another eight months)?
In any case, I DON”T MEAN TO BRAG but I’m pretty sure I’ve got at least a year or two before she catches up to me in terms of technical ability. I mean – she’s good, but not Sam’s-motor-skills-are-fully-developed good.
Here’s the picture I drew for her.
“How I Make My Soup In My Belly.” 1/4/14. Crayon, pen, and marker. 8×10″
Shit… Looking at these side by side… If I’m being honest, I think the only real difference is that she got bored and moved on to another drawing (and then to dancing, and then to showing me some toys, and then to watching TV) in the time that it took me to draw mine. Focus might be my only edge over Marley… If she gets a Ritalin ‘scrip when she starts school, I’m gonna be shit outta luck.
Oh well. No use in worrying today about what may or may not happen tomorrow.
6 AM. Walking home.
It’s 40 degrees outside and I still haven’t gone to bed.
Pineapple soda, a cigarette,
BRAND NEW RATIONAL ANTHEM playing in my headphones.
What more could an idiot ask for?
—–
I stayed up all night, clearing out my house,
Getting rid of the things in my life that I don’t need.
Some of it is really hard to get rid of.
I still don’t know if I’ll actually be able to part with my zine collection.
And (honestly) I haven’t even considered the records.
But I’m young, itinerant,
I’d rather not be weighed down by possessions.
Do you ever fantasize about your house burning down
And starting over with nothing?
I do.
I’m working to be okay with the idea that if something is important
It’ll come back to me.
I don’t need to cling to anything.
Or only to so much, in any case.
—–
Here’s a cartoon I drew in an Alcoholics Anonymous.
It was the second of three that night.
The third being My Favorite Cartoon.
This one’s not important.
It’s just about me,
Being a resentful little jerk-off.
“Broken Records.” 1/15/13. Pen on scrap. 5×3½”.
There’s no way for me to explain what I was thinking when I drew this without sounding like an asshole. Which is okay – after all – sometimes I’m an asshole!
This kid was rambling on and every word out of his mouth reeked of “here’s some shit I heard some other clueless bastard say at a meeting, so now I’m gonna repeat it at all of you so that I can walk back to my halfway house confident that you guys will think I’ve really got a handle on this recovery thing.”
Which – who knows – maybe that’s me projecting. Or maybe it’s just me being bitter about some girl not paying enough attention to me. And – honestly – what the fuck should I even care? I guess it’s easy to fall into this kind of judgmental/negative thought when you’re compelled to go to more meetings than you’d otherwise elect to on your own. I might have needed that many at one point early on (or I might not have) but by this time last year, I was definitely ready to move on to the next phase. And within a month I had done just that.
There was a little confusion at the printer and – after getting home – I had to turn around and go right back. I got everything sorted/fixed (free of charge!) and flipped on the new Iron Chic album, The Constant One, as I made my way home. I like to put off listening to albums until I have a physical copy and can sit down with it but it’s been long enough that I didn’t wanna wait anymore. (Money’s not too tight but tight enough that I’ve had to put off picking up a few records that I’d have otherwise bought by now).
The first song, “The End,” is a fairly ambient intro to the record and it was the perfect soundtrack as I made my way down the quiet little backstreets of Riverside. Under a perfect grey sky, I passed a kid sitting on the sidewalk with a book.
After just one minute, “Bogus Journey” kicked in and I had a thought about the guitar tone. It’s different, which is kind of cool. We don’t need to reinvent the wheel here but it’s nice when someone puts a little bit of thought into making something interesting.
But guitar tones aren’t really important. What is important is that I had a big grin on my face before Lubrano had even started singing. This song just sounds joyful. I became conscious of my smile and it grew even more. And then I laughed out loud. This is wonderful.
“Leaky Sinks and Stupid Fucking Garbage Disposals.” 3/18/13. Watercolor and ink on canvas. 5 ½x13 ½.”.
Iron Chic are building a discography out of the basic idea that life is ordinary most of the time. Buy their latest album, The Constant One, on CD or LP here.
I’m building a portfolio out of the basic idea that I don’t have to be a fuck-up anymore. Buy some of my art here.
