Category Archives: Video

Artist Statements, Expressive, Journals, Post-Treatment, Punk rock, Travelogue, Video

Have Sex With and/or Buy Art From Me

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"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 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.

Artist Statements, Expressive, Journals, Post-Treatment, Punk rock, Status Update, Video

(We Are All) Shitty Children

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"(We Are All) Shitty Children." 7/24/14. Acrylic paint. 60x40".
“(We Are All) Shitty Children.” 7/24/14. Acrylic paint. 60×40″.

I wrote two journals on this canvas that I later painted over.

Saturday, July 19th:
I don’t know where to start so I’m just gonna let my pen not stop. Chris was being an asshole and maybe I played a part but I don’t think so. So I went into emotional shut down mode and locked everyone out and dropped all my plans for the night. I hid from my friends and slept in the van and wrote a letter to a stranger and now I’m on the street, painting and journaling about some shit that no one will find interesting. When I got up this morning, I went inside, woke him up, drove us downtown, got out  with my canvas, and sent him off with the van. He probably went back to Kendra’s, where the two of them can talk about how unbalanced I am. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m not the center of the universe. (Yeah, right).

Sunday, July 20th:
Chris has been traveling with me for almost three months now. He’s got three months clean that he wouldn’t have without me. We got into an argument the other night. He thinks I boss him around. I think he takes all that I do for him for granted and that he doesn’t pitch in enough. We’ve basically not spoken for two days now. He’s off doing his own thing for once. Didn’t call or “come home” last night, which is more than okay with me. It’s what I was hoping for. I think his stint traveling with me is over. Actually, no. He’ll come back around as soon as he needs something. Money. Cigarettes. A place to sleep. Nevermind that I could use his help in the meantime. But I don’t need it. I get by fine without him. Maybe better. I’m more productive. Don’t need to spend as much money. Maybe I take him for granted but I’m ready to cut him loose. He likes the lifestyle my art’s provided, traveling, but he hasn’t taken to being an assistant or manager of any kind. I can’t protect him from needles and drug-addled girls forever. It’s time for him to find his own thing or fuck up trying. The only person I’m responsible for is me. Anyone that’d fault me for whatever might happen to him can fuck off. It’s no stretch to say that I saved his life and I absolutely gave him the reprieve he needed to start fresh and make another kind of life for himself. And – fuck it – I’ll say it: he has a good heart and all that shit but he’s selfish and lazy. And maybe that’s ’cause he doesn’t care about *this* like I do but all the more reason for him to find his own thing and make his own way.

Kendra had gone downtown with me that afternoon and when we got back to her apartment that night, Chris was sitting outside waiting for us. I went out to get dinner and bought food for him too but still chose not to speak to him anymore than was totally necessary. I was being a shitty child and was totally okay with it for the time being. I was still mad. Because he was being a shitty child too. It didn’t matter in that moment that he was my best friend. For all I cared, he could fuck right the fuck off. I didn’t pull it together until the next afternoon. I didn’t want to be an asshole but I also didn’t really care whether or not he stuck around and didn’t feel that I should be making any concessions. The work that I ask Chris to do (mostly errands and driving) isn’t as fun as a lot of the “work” that I do (painting, drawing, writing) but I also spend a lot of time on more tedious chores like color-correcting photographs and formatting images for prints. And my work is the stuff that pays for all the pizzas we eat, cigarettes we smoke, and the cool shit we get to do traveling around the U.S. If there’s stuff he can do to help, he should do it. It’ll still leave him with at least 22 hours each day to do whatever the fuck he wants. I have a hard enough time having to ask Chris, my friend, to do things, like he’s an employee, and it only makes it that much worse when we have to argue about it.  When Chris pitches in without having to be asked, everything runs really smoothly. When he doesn’t, I feel like I can’t ask him unless I’m using 100% of my time super productively. I feel guilty if I watch The Simpsons or spend time with whatever girl I’m seeing.

“If you want to keep traveling with me,” I told him, “you’ve got to pitch in more and, if I ask you to help with something, just do it.” He agreed that it was fair, acknowledged that he had been slacking a little bit, and everything’s been cool since then.

I’m uncomfortable writing about any of this and would have much rather just told the story of how our band, Shitty Children, came to fruition but that story’s already been told and this is what was on my mind at the “emotional peak” of the time I spent on this painting so…

Chris, Mike, and I are leaving for California tonight – for Awesome Fest in San Diego and for Shitty Children’s second (ever) show, in Pomona. Dave can’t come so Andy from Turkish Techno will be filling in on guitar. We’ll get to practice with him on Thursday, a few hours before the show but – in order to do so – we’ve got to drive all thirty hours, straight through in one shot without stopping to sleep. If you see me on Thursday, I might be just a little sleepy. I’m really excited and if you live anywhere near Pomona, you should definitely come out to the show.

Here’s a video of us playing “Rumbleseats and Running Boards” by Cleveland Bound Death Sentence. We played it worse than any of our own songs but – for that reason – it’s one of my favorite videos from that first set. I like watching Chris and me laugh it off each time one of us makes a mistake.

http://youtu.be/xDqlDq0A3l8

Punk rock, Travelogue, Video

Shitty Children’s first show

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Usually, I only stay in a city for a week or so before moving on to the next one. Chris and I decided to post up in Chicago for a good chunk of the summer though so – as long as we were gonna be around – Mike asked if we’d like to start a band with him and Dave.

Chris and Dave had played together before, on Rational Anthem’s 2009 summer tour, back when I was still doing all of the band’s booking. Rational was down two members and I recruited both of them to fill in. Mike sings and plays guitar in Like Bats, whose records I used to release on Traffic Street. Dave also plays in Like Bats these days (bass) and played guitar in my band, Troublemake, on a couple records. Anyway, in Shitty Children, the line-up is Mike on drums, Dave on guitar, and Chris on bass; I sing.

Last night was our first show and we played five songs. One was a Cleveland Bound Death Sentence cover and the other four were things Mike’s been working on for a while that didn’t make sense as Like Bats songs. He wrote the lyrics for one and I wrote the lyrics for the other three. We only practiced the set altogether twice – once the night before the show and then again just a few hours before the show started. I was really nervous going into it. It’s been four years since Noelle got sick and I subbed in as Rational Anthem’s singer one night in Manhattan. It’s been six years since Troublemake played and I sang my own lyrics in front of an audience. But this wasn’t just my first time singing in a really long time, it was my first time singing sober ever. I had never gotten up on a stage before without being some kind of fucked up. I was so nervous last night that I shook throughout the whole set and so out of my element that I was unable to articulate anything that I had wanted to say in between the songs. When one song would end, I’d just anxiously wait for the next to start. Now that I’ve seen the videos of our set though, I feel a lot better about it. I think we actually did pretty well.

Here’s the first of those five videos. We play a short intro before transitioning into our first song, which I haven’t titled yet. (Scroll down for the lyrics though).

The dumb smirk plastered on my face, like the crooked smiles that I paint and all of my clever, contrived slogans, quips, and tag-lines… All the things I do and say are just designs to garner sex and praise. But – sometimes – I really despise the way that I don’t even try at all to hide my stupid pride. My vanity’s embarrassing.

Unpredictable mood swings. No self-esteem.

I’m so in love with myself; I’m so disgusted with myself. I’m a shame and I’m ashamed. I’m a joke; I’m okay. I say I’m living out my dreams, like I have any clue what that even means. I laugh and smile all the time. Except when I’m preoccupied with anxiety. I find relief in suicidal fantasies.

Went back home, sat alone in a park with my phone. I’m  too insecure to just pick up and call you. I wouldn’t want you to think that I might need you. I’d rather sit stuck in my rut between unpredictable mood swings. I have no self-esteem.

 

We’re gonna record a demo before Chris and I leave town and we’ll probably play at least one more show too. Whether or not the band continues to exist beyond that, I’m not really sure, but there’s no reason we couldn’t get back together every so often to write/record more songs or even go on tour. We’ll see what happens.

Video

Watch the movie I was in

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I’ve held off on writing about it but No Real Than You Are (the movie I acted in last summer and that played at the Sarasota and Cannes film festivals earlier this year) is up on the internet now, and you can watch it for free.

I have mixed feelings about the film as well as my experiences surrounding and making it. I pride myself on being totally open and honest but – for the benefit of others involved (and, admittedly, some of my own selfish reasons) – I’ve held my tongue. I’m not happy about that and maybe one day I’ll throw caution to the wind, stop giving a shit, and spill it all.

Until then, here it is – presented with no (real) comment.

Vincent Dale (writer/director of NRTYA)and his crew are starting work on their next film, Paris Love Conspiracy, and are nearing the end of their fundraising campaign. If you’d like to contribute, check out their Kickstarter campaign.

Some characters sniffed drugs off this table in the movie. Before the camera started rolling, I carved some nonsense into it.
Some characters sniffed drugs off this table in the movie. Before the camera started rolling, I carved some nonsense into it.
Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient, Punk rock, Stories, Video

This is All a Misunderstanding

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"This is All a Misunderstanding." 12/3/12. Pen. 8x10".
“This is All a Misunderstanding.” 12/3/12. Pen. 8×10″.

I started the band Extra Day For Riots in 2003 when I was seventeen. In the summer of 2004, we went on a short tour. At our show in Jackson, Tennessee, we noticed some cop cars parked out by our van. As the hours passed, the cops didn’t. They just sat there. We were never up to any good but hadn’t done anything (on that day) that they’d have any way of knowing about, so we did our best to pretend they weren’t there. Finally, one of them came inside. “Is there a Samuel North here?”

Fuck.

I stepped forward. “We need you to come outside,” they told me. I had no idea what was going on, but I went.

“Are you the owner of this van?” Yeah. “Were you at the Old Hickory Mall earlier today?” Yeah. “A woman filed a report that the driver of this van, before entering the vehicle and leaving the mall, exposed his penis to her.”

What the fuck? I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. And then it hit me.

My belt had broken and, earlier that day, I was complaining about it to the other kids as we were getting in the van. “Check out how ridiculous this is,” I told them. “The waist of these pants is so worn out that I can make them drop just by clenching my butt.” I demonstrated, letting my pants fall off my waist without the use of my hands. Then I pulled them up and we left. At no point was my penis exposed (I was wearing underwear) but I guess my friends weren’t my only audience and – for whatever reason – this person reported an exaggerated version to the police.

I explained what actually happened, but the cops didn’t believe me. “Seriously!” I pleaded. “Here, look.” With my arms out at my sides, I let my pants drop. The one cop eyed me with contempt: “Pull your pants up and go inside,” he said, “we’re done here.”

—–

Right around the time I started drawing just for the fun/fuck of it, I thought of that night for the first time in years. I was sitting inside Tranquil Shores, waiting for group to start, and I picked Alexis‘ notebook up off her chair and scribbled out an even more exaggerated version of what happened.

—–

Wanna see me and little Hembrough playing a high school talent show TEN YEARS AGO? Well I just so happen to have a video of Extra Day For Riots’ performance at Sarasota High School during the ’03-’04 school year. (Hembrough plays bass in Rational Anthem now, but back then he played drums; I sang).

—–

This is All a Misunderstanding [print image]This cartoon is available for purchase as a signed and numbered 9½x8″ print.

Artist Statements, Current Journal, Intentional, Post-Treatment, Punk rock, Stories, Video

Art Intervention (in the Life of Kendra Sheetz)

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Sick of paintings? Today’s piece is a SHORT FILM. Well, it’s a video… But the video isn’t the art – it’s just how I’ve chosen to document and present the art) to anyone that wasn’t fortunate enough to witness it firsthand at Dave Strait Fest last Saturday. Enjoy!

“Art Intervention (in the Life of Kendra Sheetz).” August 17th and 25th, 2013.

Update (five hours after posting):
I’ve now been called “douchey” for this video. If anyone thinks this comes across as “frat boy bullshit,” you obviously don’t know me and haven’t taken the time to read anything else on my site. This *joke* is at Chris’s expense. I frame this as a sex thing (rather than a schoolboy crush) to belittle Chris – not Kendra. Because that’s what’s at the root of any crush developed before really getting to know a person. He didn’t come to me and say, “I wanna fuck Kendra.” He said that he had a crush.

I know where my heart’s at. I know what my intentions are. I’m not objectifying anyone. This is a funny little social experiment, inspired by a female friend’s plan to do something similar. If you think we’re sexist, let me assure you that I’m really happy for you. Congratulations on constructing a black and white world to live in as a humorless butthole.

I hate that I’m getting defensive, but I’m frustrated. Who knows? Maybe I am wrong. Maybe I did cross some line of propriety. I don’t know! I’m imperfect. Is it possible that what I thought was funny and satirical wound up being exactly what I was trying to poke fun at in the first place? (The whole enterprise of “hitting on” girls). It’s possible! Like I said – imperfect!

But I stand by this. Either as exactly what I wanted it to be – or as evidence of my own defects. It is what it is. I’m happy to say though that – thus far – all these questions were sparked by the dissent of just one person. Everyone else that’s seen it (that’s expressed an opinion anyway) has enjoyed it. I hope that continues to be the case. It was meant to be funny – to make people smile. Not to bum anyone out. Hopefully this statement will mean something to anyone that’s on the fence, not knowing what to make of it.