Tag Archives: December 2012

Artist Statements, Commissioned, Expressive, Post-Treatment, Punk rock, Song Stories

Raygun Youth

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"Raygun Youth." 8/3/13. Acrylic paint and ink on wood panel. 24x6".
“Raygun Youth.” 8/3/13. Acrylic paint and ink on wood panel. 24×6″.

I painted this for the cover of Billy Raygun’s posthumous discographic cassette. Each of the three bits of text is a lyric from a song of theirs that means something to me.

I thought I heard you calling; it was just the emptiness ringing in my head. I still think about you a lot. I still think about you a lot. I still think about you a lot.

In April 2011, my six-year relationship with Taylor came to a close. She broke up with me. I didn’t take it well. I had been pretty strung out on heroin, in a pretty bad way, for a little while but had just gotten into my first “treatment program” a few days prior (it was just methadone maintenance – not exactly the best path to wellness but what did I know?) On top of that, final exams for my final semester at Georgetown Law were about to begin and I hadn’t been to any of my classes all year. I didn’t even own the textbooks. I had a lot of studying to do if I was gonna graduate on time and I knew god damn well that if I didn’t graduate now that it was never gonna happen. I needed to keep it together (get it together) real, real fast if I was gonna keep everything in my life from crumbling into absolute shit, misery, and failure. Between the methadone, the heroin, the Adderall, and the sleep deprivation that goes along with studying in 24-hour shifts, I was … not entirely well. For a while there, I started to experience regular auditory hallucinations. Mostly, it was people (strangers) screaming at each other. It was like channel surfing on a TV where every single show featured nothing but loud, angry people. Occasionally though, I’d get a break in that and hear something softer and sweeter: “Sam…” It was a voice I knew; it was Taylor’s voice. Every single time, I’d turn around without fail, hoping (and actually believing) that this time she’d actually be standing there. She never was (of course) but it still broke my heart a little bit every time. It was a miserable cycle of studying, drugs, and crying.

All of this care / not caring is killing me.

This lyric isn’t tied into any one specific memory as much as it serves as an all-encompassing description of my relationships (romantic and otherwise) throughout my life. Oscillating frantically back and forth between giving a shit and shutting down. Between feeling loved and feeling abandoned and rejected. Sometimes it seems like my emotions are wired to a light switch. It doesn’t take a lot to flip from “perfect” love to total apathy (or even hatred). And since “we’re attracted to those at our same level of sickness/health,” I’ve gotten mixed up with plenty of girls who are equally skilled at unintentional (often drug-fueled) emotional back-and-forth. There was one night in early 2012 when my then-girlfriend professed her deep, unending, profound love for me in one moment, and was swearing that I was a disgusting, ugly, unlovable piece of shit in the next. And before the hour was up, she was right back to telling me how wonderful I was. Experiences like that can fuck with a person…

I’ll just admit that it’s a different girl, the same old story.

When I half-heartedly tried to kill myself in December 2012, I didn’t write a suicide note, but I did scribble something down on the back of one of many scraps of paper that were laying around my room. All that it said: “different girl / same old story.”

—–

Ideally, I’d have held on to sharing this until this release was announced but – shit – it’s been more than six months since I painted it so… sorry, kids!

Here’s a stream of their self-titled full-length. The first song is the first song I quoted lyrics from.

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient, Status Update

Dog Food Doesn’t Grow on Trees

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"Dog Food Doesn't Grow on Trees." 12/8/12. Colored pencil. 3x2".
“Dog Food Doesn’t Grow on Trees.” 12/8/12. Colored pencil. 3×2″.

This cartoon (about giving up on the things you’re supposed to care about) was my third (and final) piece on 12/8/12 – the first day ever that I did virtually nothing but draw and paint. (The first two were Why I Fail and Group Therapy).

This is one of the few pieces that I just flat out lost somewhere along the way. Not too shocking when you consider that it only measured three inches and that – just eight months ago – my art was nothing more than a heap of paper scraps, ripped cardboard, and a few pieces of loose canvas (all of which I carried around in grocery bags).

I made two new pieces today but I can’t share ’em ’cause I’m an asshole and they’ve got the kinda raw poison in them that I shouldn’t ever let out of my brain and onto paper. Or one of ’em does anyway… Shit – it’s not even that bad but it would hurt the fuck out of my feelings if someone had a similar thought about me, so…

Here’s a really beautiful song that’s usually pretty good at fortifying my resolve and, other times, makes me wanna break down and cry.

With a pain that cuts me like a knife, I wanna know you won’t be hard to find. I wish that I could call you right now and tell you that I’m around. I wish you would’ve called me that night and told me you hurt inside.
Please don’t stop living. – from “Upside Down” by Shorebirds.

 

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient, Status Update

Shoot Me

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"Shoot Me." 12/6/12. Pen. 5x7"
“Shoot Me.” 12/6/12. Pen. 5×7″

I drew this in the same Alcoholics Anonymous meeting as the original (lost) Autobiography cartoon. It’s one of the random scrap drawings that I wasn’t sure I’d ever actually add to the site but – while going through files, sizing artwork for my next batch of prints – I decided to clean it up a little bit and I sorta like it now. Besides – this little character’s got history! He popped up again just two days later in Group Therapy.

Anyway, I’ve been at it now for virtually all of the last twenty-four hours. I was up all night doing all sorts of basic maintenance/inventory kinds of stuff so that I can reorder out-of-stock prints, get some others for the first time, and buy more of the supplies that I need to package ’em all. I think I’ll probably stay up straight through the day and just go to sleep tonight. I can’t remember the last time I did that, but I feel pretty okay. I’ve been so productive that – until this moment – it hadn’t even occurred to me that I haven’t taken any Adderall today; I’m just on a streak, I guess.

Around 7 or 8 this morning, I took a break from the boring business end of “being an artist” and started working on a new cartoon, which I’m going to finish today but (for TOP SECRET REASONS) won’t be able to share with anyone for a month or so. I’m pretty excited about it though; it’s coming out really well.

—–

When I looked up that Atom & His Package song for yesterday’s entry, I stumbled into this one first, which I had never heard before. I saw Atom & His Package play when I was fourteen (at The Orpheum in late 2000). It’s never really been my thing but after more than a decade of not being even slightly interested in anything beyond “Punk Rock Academy,” it’s starting to grow on me. This one’s really good. It’s total nonsense but it’s just too god damn catchy and energetic to ignore.

—–

  • 4×5½” prints of “Shoot Me” (numbered, signed, and sealed) are available in my webstore. In the same listing (for the same price) you can also buy the original.
  • “I’m Downright Amazed” was included on Atom’s final release, which my friend Alex told me is one of the best live albums he’s ever heard.
Artist Statements, Inpatient, Status Update

Of Monsters and Giving a Shit

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"Of Monsters and Giving a Shit." 12/13/12. Oil pastels. 12x18".
“Of Monsters and Giving a Shit.” 12/13/12. Oil pastels. 12×18″.

On the left half of this piece, I can still see a few of the words I wrote but not enough to make any sense of it. Two weeks from today, this piece will be a year old; it’s one of the last I made before I got the courage to stop completely obscuring the more serious/honest/vulnerable text in my art. All I really remember is that it was related to the girl at the center of all my 12/13/14 pieces and that the original sentiment was that – of all the things in the world to be scared of – the one I feared most was the prospect of really caring about another human being. I wrote a little bit about that back when I drew this…

That feeling when you wake up from a really good dream where everything worked out and you still have everything that you’ve lost – only to realize moments later, “Oh yeah… that’s not my life anymore. I’m in rehab for the third or fourth time this year.”

But there’s comfort in having lost everything – in having nothing. What else can you lose at that point? What’s there to be afraid of?

Yet, as I get better, I’m starting to get some of those things back. I’m starting to develop meaningful relationships again. And it’s pretty fucking terrifying. Giving a shit about other people (about anything really) opens the door to serious heartache and frustration.

But it’s worth it.

—–

Status Update (12/1/13):

Yesterday was the last day of my exhibit at Sun-Ray but, when I went down there to check in, Tim and Shanna told me that I could keep half of the wall space I had been using. So – when I went down there today – I took everything apart and then put it back together within the confines of the space I’ve got now. In all, I have thirteen pieces up: five that were featured in the exhibit, plus eight new ones. I’m still a little shocked when I’m even tolerated somewhere so to actually have my welcome extended … it’s a pretty great feeling.

The last couple days have been a little hectic. I’ve been getting more emails than usual (from people reaching out) and I’m having a little trouble keeping up. It’s kinda strange ’cause (obviously) I’m not really qualified to help anyone but I think it’s a good thing that something about what I’m doing is hitting people in such a way that they’re comfortable sharing things with me that they don’t feel comfortable speaking about with anyone else. I think sometimes just the act of acknowledging something to another human being can have a powerful, healing effect. Still, it’s tough sometimes to figure out exactly how I should respond (especially via email which doesn’t really feel like the most compassionate means of communication).

On a sorta-related note, something kinda cool that’s been happening: the last three times I’ve left the house, I’ve been asked by a stranger if I’m … me … and then they’ve shared with me something about having seen my art and told me what they liked or how they related to it. That’s not totally new but it doesn’t usually happen this frequently and (again) it’s a pretty good feeling knowing that some of what I’m doing is getting through to people, even beyond my little punk rock bubble.

That’s all for tonight. I’m feeling grateful. For all this (and more).

—–

Almost forgot: if you didn’t see it already, check out this little write-up about me! There are a couple small errors (like “bipolar” instead of borderline) but it’s really cool all the same. I met this girl on the street in Riverside about a month ago when she asked me, “What’s there to do in this city?” I took her to my art show and we spent about an hour together. I’m really honored to see all the nice things she had to say about me/my art ’cause my admiration for her bravery and what she’s doing with her life right now is about on the same level.

—–

Signed/numbered 12×8⅙-inch “Of Monsters and Giving a Shit” prints are still available. The original piece sold in May.

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient, Stories

Tracy’s Birthday

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"Temper Tantrum v. Patience, Poise, and Benevolence." 12/17/12. Colored pencil and pen. 10x8".
“Tracy’s Birthday.” 12/17/12. Colored pencil and pen. 10×8″.

I made this for my counselor at Tranquil Shores last year because I’m a sweet, sweet boy. And also maybe a little because she kinda sorta played a huge role in saving my life and is one of my favorite people ever. The little bubble of text says, “I know you’re required by law or something to be nice to me, but a weaker soul would have definitely snapped my neck by now (U.S. Constitution / Hippocratic Oath be damned). Thanks for not giving up on me, even when I try to. Oh – and … HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Technically, I wasn’t even supposed to know it was her birthday but I found out by virtue of a happy accident so… I took advantage of it.

I don’t know how my personality comes across through my writing on this website but I joke around a lot (and propriety is not my strong suit). One of my favorite things about Tracy (on a personal level) was the way she’d react to that. As a counselor, she’s really serious/professional/by the books. Joking around in our groups wasn’t really something she had time for. So whenever I cracked a joke in group, I’d look over to gauge her reaction and see just how much trouble I was in. She can make a more serious face than any serious face that’s ever existed, so if she had that expression (her “ice cold death stare”) when I looked over at her, I could immediately feel my soul being ripped from my body and shredded by the demons now feasting upon it in hell. That face could wreck me. But sometimes I’d look over and see her smiling – which would be the best thing ever. And every once in a while I’d get a laugh out of her, which would be the SUPER best thing ever. As bad as the ice stare could make me feel, the laugh would make me feel equivalently at the other end of the spectrum.

Really – all of that kind of ties into what made her such a great counselor though. She wasn’t some robotic super-counselor incapable of being a human being at any point but she also wasn’t someone who could be “won over” and manipulated with charm. I can bullshit a lot of counselors (I’ve had a lot of practice!) but Tracy could detect my bullshit even when I didn’t realize it was bullshit. And she had just the right level of tolerance for all of it. She’s compassionate but she’s not a sucker. Really, she just knows what she’s doing. She always knew when to guide me and when it was best to just let me flounder and figure something out for myself. And when I put it that way, it makes me think of how –  in some of my one-on-one sessions – I wouldn’t really wanna talk about anything; I’d say I was all out of issue or problems to talk about. And I don’t think she ever once responded with a question like, “Well, what’s happening with […]?” (If I had to guess, I’d say she knew that only I knew what was fucking up my brain on any given day so trying to ask me about something would only serve to move us away from talking about whatever that might be). I’d sit there, alternately making/breaking eye contact and squirming around in my chair, occasionally smirking or laughing or jokingly trying to play counselor to her (“What’s on your mind today, Tracy?”).  And she’d just sit there, looking me in the eye, until I’d finally start talking about what I needed to. No matter how long it took. Other times were more like the scene I drew, which also (as noted) required patience (and a lot more).

I love all the counselors at Tranquil Shores and I got a lot from all of them but – as my primary counselor – she was just right. Somehow, she always seemed to know exactly what I needed to “get better.” Even before she became my primary counselor – WHEN SHE KICKED ME OUT. As shocked and outraged as I was initially, it wasn’t long before I realized that it was exactly what I needed – it was what had to happen. Unlike the other times I had been kicked out of treatment, this one had a profound effect on me. I realized (fairly) quickly that I hadn’t been the victim of a terrible injustice but had been given exactly what I deserved.  I resolved to get back in and – after a letter, a couple phone conversations, and a meeting – I was given a second chance. Or (more accurately) a 634th chance.

When I came back, I remember a conversation with Sandy, the program director, about who would be my primary counselor. Before I was kicked out, it had been Rob, who (like all the counselors there) is awesome. I told her I’d be happy with whatever choice the treatment team decided was best for me. I don’t know if it had anything to do with their decision, but I did say one other thing on the subject – about the counselor with whom (up to that point) I had had the least contact: “I think Tracy might be a good fit,” I said smiling, “because she’s mean to me.”

Which (as much as I half-meant it at the time) couldn’t be further from the truth.

I miss that place.

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient

The Second Day of My Life

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"The Second Day of My Life." 12/4/12. Pen. 8x10".
“The Second Day of My Life.” 12/4/12. Pen. 6×7½”.

I drew this cartoon of an astronaut boxing a pirate, while sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. It was the same meeting the 12/13/14 thing started. It was also the day I finished reading my life story to my peers and counselor. It has no real significance, I was just trying to draw something a little bit unlike everything else that I draw.

  • The last time I was struck by that urge, I drew this.
  • The day that I started reading my life story, I drew this.
  • I chose the word “promise” for the same reason that, a week or so later, I drew this.

This is a really shitty, lazy update. I’ll make up for it later!

Life is cool though.

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient, Status Update

Group Therapy

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"Group Therapy." 12/8/12. Colored pencil. Ink outline. 5½x4¼”.
“Group Therapy.” 12/8/12. Colored pencil. Ink outline. 5½x4¼”.

While in rehab last year, I drew a cartoon for a Christmas card to send my friends. It’s me and Santa hanging out with The Devil, Borderline Personality Disorder, an undefined higher power, a Disney-fied syringe full of heroin, myself at age four, an identity issue monster, and two girls that I’m either in love with, trying to fuck, or just looking to get some kind of self-esteem bump out of.

——

We didn’t have a community event that week so I had Saturday almost entirely to myself. After trying and failing to create something a little more self-serving, I decided to do something nice. I drew this – my most detailed piece up to that point – for a card I could send to all the people I care about. My list had 110 names on it. That wouldn’t have been all that difficult had I not made it into the most emotionally intensive project ever. If these were people I cared about, I decided, then I should write each of them a letter letting them know why I cared about them, just how much I appreciated them, or [you get the idea]. It was more than I could handle. In the end, I got around 60 cards written (and about 55 actually mailed out). The people that have meant the most to me over the years: their cards were the hardest to write. I forced myself to scratch a few of those out early in, but others I kept putting off ’til I could find what I needed to give it the focus and honesty it deserved. Since I had about 50 names left to cross out when I threw in the towel though, some of those people never got any card at all.

As a whole, this was one of the toughest things I ever tried my hand at. Though I ultimately fell short, I’m still really glad that I did it. The 50 or so people that did receive cards – well, that’s still something.

For the backs of the cards, I traced the Traffic Street logo (with one modification) and the barcode from a box of Cap'n Crunch.
For the backs of the cards, I traced the Traffic Street logo (with one modification) and the barcode from a box of Cap’n Crunch.

As for the content of the image, sitting around me are physical manifestations of all of my “issues.” From the bottom-right, we’ve got Satan as my dark, sarcastic, attention-seeking behavior;  the mask I made in our expressive art group on identity [it’s not up on the site yet and won’t be ’til I can summon some bravery]; a syringe filled with heroin; the ghost that I used in this period as a symbol for borderline personality disorder; Santa’s just hangin’ out ’cause it’s like, Christmas, yo;  the girl represents different issues with sex, love, and codependency; the empty chair is for my [then] undefined higher power; the little kid is me at four years old, an age that came up a lot in the course of my treatment and that a lot of my core beliefs can be traced back to; and the second girl is for sex, love, and codependency. Yeah – two chairs for that set of issues. They come up a lot.

—–

Status update (10/30/13): This isn’t exactly my strongest entry but I don’t have much in me tonight. I feel pretty hollow right now. [More on that later, I suppose]. Earlier today I was extremely productive though and got a lot of writing and editing done. I’m really happy about that. While most of that work isn’t anything I want to share here yet,  I did completely overhaul the statement for one piece, edit the fuck out of another, and add a good amount to a third.