It Smells Like Pee Because I Peed On It b/w How I Feel About My Life Right Now + Doll Garage

August 26, 2013

“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. 12x16".
“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.”

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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 am a child, but I have fun.

 

My Favorite Cartoon

August 22, 2013

"My Favorite Cartoon." 1/15/13. Pen on scrap. 3x4".
“My Favorite Cartoon.” 1/15/13. Pen on scrap. 3×4″.

I was sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and I was pretty bummed out over (surprise!) a girl. (I’ve astutely noticed that this seems to be a pattern). You see… When we saw each other just before we went into the meeting, she hadn’t paid me quite as much attention as I felt that I needed (ALL OF THE ATTENTION).

So, as I had become prone to doing, I tried to work through my anxiety and hurt feelings with a pen and a piece of paper. I drew a little cartoon, but I wasn’t happy with it. Which made me even more upset. So I tried again. Annnnnnnd… same result. I put my pen and paper on the floor and decided to just sit in my misery and sulk. Because I so enjoy feeling that way. (Who doesn’t?!)

But that was what the old Sam would do. So I begrudgingly picked my pen and paper back up and started again, not even knowing what I was drawing. And this is what came out.

And then I wasn’t upset anymore.

So while I really like this cartoon, what makes it my favorite isn’t necessarily the cartoon itself as much as it’s evidence that I can use art to heal all my stupid, petty wounds. It helps me step back and realize that every little thing that happens around me is not (and is not meant to be interpreted as) proof that I’m a worthless, unlovable piece of shit.

Here are some related images…

This is the original as I've framed it. Underneath the glass, the cartoon is "laminated" in packing tape because... [see next picture for more]
This is the original as I’ve framed it. Underneath the glass, the cartoon is “laminated” in packing tape because… [see next picture for more]
When I had *my very own apartment* at Tranquil Shores, I took it upon myself to "decorate" (to the extent permitted). Of course, I put my favorite cartoon on my front door. To protect it from rain though, I had to "laminate" it first. After a couple days, I was told that I couldn't have it visible outside like that, so I hung it from a piece of scotch tape, just inside my front door, to greet any/all visitors.
When I had *my very own apartment* at Tranquil Shores, I took it upon myself to “decorate” (to the extent permitted). Of course, I put my favorite cartoon on my front door. To protect it from rain though, I had to “laminate” it first. After a couple days, I was told that I couldn’t have it visible outside like that, so I hung it from a piece of scotch tape, just inside my front door, to greet any/all visitors.
At Dave Strait Fest in Minneapolis last weekend, I picked up a copy of New Noise magazine. There was a feature on Rumspringer, in which Wes describes meeting me. I was selling records outside of Common Grounds and handing out fliers with a list of bands with upcoming releases on Traffic Street. In the feature, Wes says something to the effect of "Sam swears they weren't business cards, but they totally were!" I thought it was funny that I came across that while at another fest at which I was (arguably) distributing "business cards." But *this* time, I wasn't giving them to people, I was... [see next image for more]
At Dave Strait Fest in Minneapolis last weekend, I picked up a copy of New Noise magazine. There was a feature on Rumspringer, in which Wes describes meeting me. I was selling records outside of Common Grounds and handing out fliers with a list of bands with upcoming releases on Traffic Street. In the feature, Wes says something to the effect of “Sam swears they weren’t business cards, but they totally were!” I thought it was funny that I found that article while attending another fest, at which I was (arguably) distributing “business cards.” But *this* time, I wasn’t giving them to people, I was…
Using my homemade keychain to tape them up to walls, signs, bike racks, and all other vertical surfaces. "Business cards? Yeah, right! These are stickers! I just don't have a major label budget like all these millionaires with pre-stickified stickers. There's this thing, maybe you've heard of it. It's called punk."
Using my homemade keychain to tape them up to walls, signs, bike racks, and all other vertical surfaces. “Business cards? Yeah, right! These are stickers! I just don’t have a major label budget like all these millionaires with pre-stickified stickers. There’s this thing, maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s called punk.”

 

This piece is still for sale if you’d like to own it. This piece was among the twenty-five featured in my first art show. It sold 11/2/13. Signed 6×8″ prints are available in my webstore.

And so long as we’re talking about Rumspringer, did you guys know that their new full-length is the best thing they’ve ever written?

Note to Self or: A Pile of Red Boxes Dances Along to the Raging Spiritual and Moral Conflicts That Rattle His (Presumably) Cardboard Bones

August 2, 2013

"Note to Self (or: A Pile of Red Boxes Dances Along to the Raging Moral and Spiritual Conflicts That Rattle His (Presumably) Cardboard Bones)." 3/3/13. Acrylics and ink. 9x12".
“Note to Self (or: A Pile of Red Boxes Dances Along to the Raging Moral and Spiritual Conflicts That Rattle His (Presumably) Cardboard Bones).” 3/3/13. Acrylics and ink. 9×12″.

Statement written March 3rd, 2013.
Most treatment centers cut you loose after 28 days. That wouldn’t have done it for me. The one I went to (this time around) is a (roughly) 90-day program. I wasn’t ready to leave after 90 days. On my 115th day, I half-heartedly tried to kill myself. Two days later though, things started to fall into place after I had a bit of an epiphany that (probably) comes to other people far earlier in life. It was pretty simple: “I can be whoever I want to be.” In other words, if I want to be honest, all I have to do is tell the truth. If I want to be a good friend, I have to be compassionate and reliable (among other things). That was a huge deal for me. This piece is an extension of that. I have a hard time calling myself an artist, but if I make art, then – shit – that makes me an artist. On the other side of the coin, if I waste my life away at some minimum wage job, doing things that I don’t care about – if I spend my days behind a cash register and my nights in front of a television – that would make me something else. I don’t want to be whatever that is.
The image I drew somewhat unconsciously on an application (to sell art at a street market). I don’t usually re-draw/paint things, but I really liked how joyful that little robot or pile of boxes looks. So I wanted to make it into something more than a scrap of paper. As for the eyes, I use the two crosses for eyes a lot. I’m not a Christian, but I like the symbol of the cross as a balance to the inverted cross that I’ve pretty much always been a fan of. I need balance. For too long, I only embraced the dark side of things. So crosses for eyes are a stand-in for my internal spiritual and moral conflicts. As for the teeth – they’re mine. My teeth aren’t really that bad, but I still struggle with self-image issues so… I don’t know. This is one way that I guess I try and deal with that.
The question, “What did you do today?,” Well, I painted this. And now I’m setting up a webstore because if I really want to make a living with my artwork, I should probably take steps to make that happen.

—–

This piece is with one of my counselors from Tranquil Shores, Julie. She does the expressive art therapy group. Without her, I probably never would have started drawing or painting and I don’t know where I’d be today or who I’d be today.

The only bad part of moving to Jacksonville was moving further away from Tranquil Shores. I miss everyone.

—–

Signed, limited edition (#/50) 12×15½” prints are available in my webstore. Each print is packaged in a sealed Crystal Clear acid/lignin-free plastic archival sleeve, with a heavy backing board, and a single sheet artist’s statement on the reverse. Shipping and handling is free.

The original painting is no longer available (I gave it to my art therapy counselor). If you’d like to see it, just develop a serious substance abuse problem, check yourself into treatment at Tranquil Shores, and peek inside her office.

Stand Up and Say No

August 1, 2013

It wasn’t gradual and it wasn’t an accident. I was eighteen years old and I remember saying to a friend, “Where can we get heroin and where can we get needles?” I was angry and I was miserable. The world was not fair and it wasn’t fun. Everything that everyone had told me was important was not. Shooting heroin seemed like a pretty good way to prove either that nothing mattered or – at the very least – that everything everyone else believed to be true was actually bullshit.

Six years later I was even angrier and even more miserable. I got reckless with heroin. I didn’t care anymore about whether or not I developed a physical dependence. I started shooting up every day. This would really prove a point, right? Eh, probably not. But it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t care. It made me hurt less. That was enough.

When I started a record label in 2008, I named it “Traffic Street,” after the last song on “The Cheap Wine of Youth,” the second EP by Rivethead. It’s been my favorite record for a long time and it means even more to me today than it did back then.

The songs on that record describe life more accurately and poetically than anything I’ve ever read. There are the feelings of desperation and exhaustion, but there are also all the little moments that make life worth living. And there’s hope. When I’m feeling awful, I listen to “The Cheap Wine of Youth.” When everything’s going my way, I listen to “The Cheap Wine of Youth.” I’ve been asked for advice in the past and found myself quoting these lyrics. They come into my head every day, whether or not I’ve listened to it. It’s the most important piece of art I’ve ever been exposed to and its influenced the way that I’ve lived my life and the way that I live it today.

From “48 Doublestack”: I know it’s nothing short of terrible – the way this place seems sometimes. Still, it’s not impossible to laugh at the bullshit, drink up with the worst. Kid, I know it’s hard but try not to let the world make you the sucker all the time. These things that we’ve done, somewhat desperate and drunk, built the basis for this restless way that we live. We’ve rejected what you’ve got to show for the trade-off.

From “Traffic Street”: And now today I think I found a way to make myself go outside and laugh in the faces of the winning team, while they chase boring dreams and still live paycheck to paycheck. Do what you really wanna do. Don’t fucking “yes, sir” through your whole life like a fool, kid. I hope you don’t really need the lies. Don’t fucking waste your time with the world always dragging you down.

I don’t shoot heroin anymore and I’m not miserable anymore. People tell me I should take the bar exam and be a lawyer. I don’t want to be a lawyer. A lot of people think that’s crazy and think that they know better than I do how I ought to be living. I don’t need to shoot heroin anymore to show them just how little their ideas and opinions mean to me. Now, I’ve got a new way to laugh in the faces of the winning team. I wipe my ass with my law degree and I paint pictures of weird kids with bad teeth. Money is cool, but it’s not that cool. I’m not interested in the trade-off. I like my life the way that it is and I’m way happier living this dream than I would be chasing that other kind.

When life seems tough, I draw inspiration and encouragement from these lyrics (and a lot of others in the Rivethead / Dear Landlord catalog).  If it sounds silly to say stuff like this about a pop punk record… I don’t care. This is the kind of stuff that I think is important.

standupandsayno
“Stand Up and Say No.”July 31st, 2013. Acrylics and ink. 16×20″ stretched canvas.

Zack (who wrote the music (and sang) in Rivethead) has become one of my closest friends over the last few years.  Brad (who wrote the lyrics (and played drums) in Rivethead), on the other hand, I don’t really know outside of a couple shows and a couple fests. But he knows how much I like that band. One day last year, my counselor gave me a package that had come in the mail for me. It had Brad’s name on the return address. I opened it up to find a letter and a test pressing of “The Cheap Wine of Youth.” I’m pretty sure there are only four of these in the world. He could have easily sold it on eBay for … shit … at least a couple hundred bucks I’d guess. Probably more. But he sent it to me, as a surprise, while I was in rehab. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it’s pretty much the coolest thing anyone could have sent me. It’s on the same level as if Aaron Cometbus had sent me the original handwritten Double Duce. Or if Zack had given me the last Rivethead t-shirt and City Sound Number Five poster (which he did (because he’s awesome) (and I love him for it)).

But – yeah – this painting is my “thank you” to Brad ‘cause getting that record, from him, on that day, was… something for which I am incredibly grateful. I don’t really have the words to describe it.

The images are allusions to the lyrics of “48 Double Stack” and “Traffic Street.” If you don’t understand the caption, go pick up a copy of the record and start from the beginning.

Here it is on my wall. It’s the one record I’ve ever framed.
cheapwinetest

And here – for your listening pleasure – (by the flip of a coin) is “48 Doublestack.”

The painting featured in this entry is available as a 12×16″ print/poster. It comes signed, numbered (of 10), and framed.

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