Modern Art is Stupid; Everything Is

February 22, 2014

"Modern Art is Stupid; Everything Is." 1/12/14. Acrylic, spray, and watercolor paints, ink, oil pastels, food coloring, and charcoal. 60x40".
“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).

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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.

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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. This is me after cutting it off, while working on some graphic stuff at the laundromat last night.
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

February 20, 2014

"Poetry By Girls I've Brutally Fucked." 2/7/14. Acrylic paint and ink. 12x24".
“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

January 22, 2014

"The Most Efficient Path to Loneliness." 1/22/13. Ink. 7¼x9½".
“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.

How I Make My Soup in My Belly

January 5, 2014

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.

Marley's drawing for me. (I'm an idiot; I forgot to ask the title).

 

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. 8x10"
“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.

Because Nihilism

December 30, 2013

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

 

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

—–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—–

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

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

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

Limp

December 29, 2013

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

http://youtu.be/g2uohZQUWoQ

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

—–

I’m Sorry

December 28, 2013

"I'm Sorry." 12/26/13. Pen and markers. 6½x9½".
“I’m Sorry.” 12/26/13. Pen and markers. 6½x9½”.

The other new piece from Thursday night. The one that’s mean and shitty and makes me not like myself.

“Diaper Baby” by Sass Dragons seems appropriate right now…
I don’t care. I want attention. It doesn’t matter just where it comes from.
I’m as needy as the day I was born. Like a crying baby.
SOMEBODY CHANGE ME. 

—–

28 [image]Before I went to bed at 8 AM, I uploaded the new high-resolution photos of 28 and Eradicating the Threat of Happiness.

Both are available in my webstore, as are prints of my newer pieces.

Eradicating the Threat of Happiness [image]

The good people of the Wunderground collective have been sweet enough to include me in their quarterly event at 1904 Music Hall. If you’re in/near Jacksonville, come hang out with me on January 11th. Art, music, burlesque, spoken word, food… IT’LL BE AN EVENING.

wunderground-flier

Update (April 2025): This drawing is currently hanging in THE RINGLING MUSEUM OF ART. If you’re reading this anytime prior to July 30th, you can go SEE IT IN PERSON!

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