What my current (30×40″) work-in-progress looked like yesterday…
I did some searches today with terms like “jacksonville art.” A lot of groups that want artists to apply, pay application fees, and then (if accepted) pay membership dues in exchange for better percentages on pieces sold in juried exhibitions (if selected). Also a lot of stuff about “acceptable” frames and wall mounts. A lot of other rules too.
I guess that’s how this sort of thing works?
Do I know anyone that’s ever attempted (and succeeded to any degree) to participate in any kind of “professional” arts world/scene?
Before that, I took some duct tape and fliers down to an area with foot traffic and put ’em on walls and streetlight posts. That’s a little more my speed. It feels a little more “right” but I’m trying not to be discouraged or turned off by that other stuff. And I’m not really. I mean – a little bit I guess. Really, I’m just not sure what to make of it. I’m still pretty new at this.
I’m usually up ’til 4 am and up by 9. It must be catching up with me today ’cause it’s only midnight and I’m exhausted.
“I think I should (or at least want to) eat but I feel fat so I’m gonna try not to do that. I’d eat with Adderall but don’t wanna stay up too late. Got treatment tomorrow. I’d work out but don’t want to. I should get some work done or make some art (which I sort of am) but really I think I’ll just beat off. It’s a good distraction. I wanna say I wanna use heroin at times like this but I don’t. I never will. I’m not a good addict.”
“It Smells Like Pee Because I Peed On It b/w How I Feel About My Life Right Now + Doll Garage.” 3/14/13. Acrylic, watercolor, resin sand, duct tape, marker, colored pencil, fabric dye, coffee, and urine on flat-rate USPS priority mailing box. 12×16″.
Yeesh. [or something]. Right? I wrote that on a discarded USPS box with no intention of it actually becoming a piece. I was just losing my mind. There’s a lot going on here but that’s how it started (bottom center, red pencil).I’m proud to say that – like the other piece in which I express an interest in masturbating – I wound up getting pulled into art instead. (If you wanna know the truth though – on other occasions, I actually have masturbated! Don’t tell anyone though – it’s a big secret).
I already covered the “feeling fat” sentiment with “Insecure and Overwhelmed” so I won’t repeat myself here.
On the edges we have two allusions to the piece I finished earlier this same night (“Titrating”). On the right it says, “If THAT wasn’t titration-related, maybe THIS isn’t either.” On the left it says, “On a scale of one to ten, are you warm and safe? Do you find colors soothing? Is there any leftover pizza? On a scale of one to ten… Leftover pizza?” (That’s me poking fun at myself for being so concerned with pizza back on February 26th). Regarding “colors,” that’s about the neon green paint splattered across the pink duct tape that coats the far right side of my “canvas.” I like colors.
I was “making a living” at this point in my life by selling weird antique dolls on eBay. Every morning (or afternoon) I’d wake up and go out to the garage (in my ex-girlfriend’s family’s house) and list the dolls for sale. The details don’t matter, but they were basically inherited and I was enlisted to sell them in exchange for 50% of whatever they brought in. The dolls were all stored in giant plastic tubs. Some of them didn’t have clothes on, but there were a bunch of clothes floating around at the bottoms of the tubs. In order to make as much money as possible, I had to research the dolls based on their attributes and the markings carved into their backs and necks. For many of them, what clothes they were wearing was “important” (by which I mean, it affected how much I’d get for them). So here I was, sitting in a dark garage, putting different outfits on these toys and photographing them. Context aside, I was twenty-seven years old and playing dress-up with dollies. When that thought occurred to me, it struck me as being so absurd that I had to snap a ridiculous picture and post it on Facebook. The caption read, “Don’t even try to pretend I’m not the funniest motherfucker on the planet.”
Because I totally am!
When this piece was just one step away from the way it ended up, I fucking hated it. Aside from the fact that it mentions embarrassing stuff (body image issues and masturbating) I just didn’t like the way that it looked. I can’t really explain my next move. Maybe it just popped into my head and seemed characteristic of mental illness and (since that’s how I felt in this moment) I embraced it. I took the piece and I peed on it.
And – call me crazy but… that’s what did it. The slight change in color tone brought about by my urine soaking into the cardboard… really brought the whole thing together. (My phrasing is intentionally silly here, but the sentiment is 100% dead on). Suddenly, I loved this piece. I deemed it “finished” and immediately started my next piece – “Everything Works Out Exactly As It Should.”
The next day (as I always did) I brought all of my new artwork with me to Tranquil Shores to share. I wrote the name of this piece on the back of it and came up with a really funny game. I’d hand it to someone, let them look at it, and then tell them to flip it over and read the title. At which point they’d look up at me like, “seriously?” And I’d give them a big dumb grin and nod.
Urine is sterile! The piece was dry by this point! Who cares?!
I just saw a teaser trailer for No Real Than You Are! I’m not allowed to share it with anyone yet, but it’s pretty awesome.
It’s silly, but I think my favorite part is just that I’m wearing a Jonesin’ hoodie as I fall apart in a graveyard and a Rational Anthem shirt as I make out with a girl in a treehouse.
I have a post that I’m really excited about (that’s half-written) but I can’t get to it and finish it for another hour or so.
I spent today doing yard work. I cleared an area overgrown with six foot weeds. It took me four hours (which equates to two large pizzas). I have a funny life.
After the show in Valdosta (which was just Rational Anthem and Johnathan Coody of Ninja Gun), I drove the van back to my place in Jacksonville, where we spent the night. The rest of the crew left around noon and I’ve spent the day kind of catching up around here. Did some yardwork, started to replace the blurry images (in all of my posts made from the road) with high-res ones. I should have that done by tomorrow, at which point I’ll also add them all to the Gallery page.
I don’t take a lot of photos, but here’s what I got.
The floor of the van. We are children.This firework had no fuse, but I figured if we enveloped the whole thing in fire, that ought to do the trick. Zack gathered up some junk mail and made it happen.Here’s the aftermath. We set it off underneath an awning in front of a business, rather than in the street. Because we’re real smart guys.Lipstick Homicide’s front porch. I just really like that skateboard.I used to have a different one until it got thrown out while I was away in rehab in December 2011. Evan‘s playing in Tight Bros now though, so I saw him all weekend and he traded me a *new* poster for an “I Can’t Compete With Harry Potter” print.Two rad trades in one night. Brett didn’t have anything with him in Des Moines (where Rational played with The Copyrights), but The Heat Tape were on the bill in Carbondale, so I let him snag my “I Don’t Go Out Much” cartoon in Iowa and he brought me these the next night in Illinois. (Going on tour / punk rock is awesome).Driving into St. Louis.I was down the street from the Triple Rock (not especially dressed) when Mike Cranberry walked up with a ridiculous leather jacket and told me to try it on. Because I didn’t look like enough of a creep to begin with.
I guess that’s it for now. But speaking of Mike…
And if you’re tired of my nonsense, those links in the photo captions will take you to Brett and Evan’s websites, which both have a bunch of their art online.
Running late on our way to Carbondale. The show tonight is with Future Virgins, The Heat Tape, and Hate Waves. 9 pm at Ski Haus. I think.
Traded art with Evan Wolff last night. I’m afraid to hang his print in my living room ’cause more people will comment on how cool it is than any of my things that hang in there. I might have to put it in the bedroom. Then again, it could be good for me. I can always use a little more humility. I also started a trade with Brett Hunter. He took my “I Don’t Go Out Much” cartoon and is gonna bring me something in trade for it tonight, so i’m really excited for that now too. (Show+trade with Brett+pizza place Zack’s talking about=high hopes for Carbondale). Punk rock is still awesome.
The van is shaky and I’m unusually tired, but I have a new piece to share later. It’s been a strange morning. We almost had to sacrifice a body to the tour monsters and – since the band is kind of necessary to the whole playing shows thing – it would’ve been either Zack or I. We were both willing to do whatever, but things shook out in such a way that we’re both still here.
When I’m not driving, I tend to sit in back, but I’m riding shotgun right now with Chris driving. It’s not too hot out, we’re listening to Ramshackle Glory singing, “I always wanted to die young, now I feel younger every day,” and life is kinda nice.
“4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show.” 2/16/13. Acrylics on cardboard. 18×27″.
Sometimes someone will compliment my “talent,” despite the fact that I have none. What I lack in ability though, I make up for in willingness. Almost anyone can do what I do. What makes my art special is that they don’t (and I do!) Creativity? I get good ideas sometimes, but when I’ve got nothing that’s when the willingness really helps out. If I don’t know what to paint, I just go. Honestly, it’s mostly out of necessity. My brain is damaged and expressive art therapy is the best tool I’ve got.
It was Friday and I was upset. I had been at Tranquil Shores for six months so I had the kind of freedom that allowed me to go outside, cross the street, and grab a cardboard box off the curb. I spent the next two hours painting nothing, just moving colors around on the cardboard. When I was done, I was covered in paint and had a 72-inch panel of cardboard that was… also covered in paint. I let it dry and still had no idea what to do with it. I started looking for images that were already there and outlined them with black paint, adding details at will. Two hours later, I realized that I had one “canvas” but (the beginnings of) close to a dozen paintings. So I cut it up and spent the next two days finishing them. I did virtually nothing but paint for about 48 hours. Which is not really the kind of balance that one is taught to strive for while in recovery (and especially treatment)…
But that’s okay because that phase of my life was about to come to an (unanticipated) end. What had started fifteen months (and three facilities) earlier ended the following Tuesday. I gradually started moving out of Tranquil Shores and within ten days, fully transitioned to outpatient treatment. This is the first of those cardboard paintings I made between Friday and Sunday. There are ten in all and I consider them all part of a series that I call “The Weak End”.
The title of this firstpainting is an allusion to our first group session earlier that day. We had to perform a “talent” of some kind. I had been dreading it all week and tried to get out of it. Initially, I joked that my talent would be a demonstration: “how to cook GHB” (also known as 4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid) – something I learned (through doing) in my last year of law school. Then I joked that my entire life had been performance art and that I should be allowed to simply show up. That didn’t fly either. Ultimately, I brought in a painting, read a statement, and spoke off the cuff a little about it (all while Troublemake songs played in the background).
My apprehension turned out to be for nothing, as my whole “act” was incredibly well received. But as well as I felt about that, I was still off somehow. I think I knew that the end was coming and I was scared to move on. But I did move on and everything worked out really well. I didn’t fall apart the second I moved into the outside world and I actually started to enjoy life more than I ever had in the past. And I discovered that I could stay off heroin, out on my own, for more than three or four days.
One more thing about the title: it’s also (inadvertently) about fear. I hadn’t ever painted anything without some kind of caption but this piece felt right without one. Still, while any words I might add would feel tacked on, I felt a little vulnerable without one. That made it all the more necessary for the painting to have an absurd title for me to hide behind.
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Today was a really great day and I think I’m finally starting to get my grip back. In case it doesn’t go without saying, I haven’t been using anything, but abstinence doesn’t equal wellness and it’s been a tough week. I decided this morning to start posting some of the paintings from this series and I’ve got the first four ready to go. The second one will be online soon with more to come…
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Here are a couple photos from early in the process of creating “The Weak End” series of paintings.
The giant painting from which all ten paintings were eventually made.
Today, I use my hands as often as I use brushes. This was the first time I had done that though.
