Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again)

March 26, 2025

I’ve been seriously killing it this month and I’m super excited. I finished My “Everything 2.0” painting, got it photographed, sold, made prints (including a huge 3×3′ giclée on canvas), sold a bunch, and am really excited about the new painting I started on Saturday. I have lots of events coming up that I’m looking forward to and this last month’s events have all gone really well. (Not to be CRASS but – if I did as well every month as I’ve done in March, I’d be SET).

Anyway, the statement for this painting is literally just a transcript of the text that’s scattered across the canvas. I’m a little embarrassed to post it because the person that I wrote about may very well read it but hopefully she’ll not be too weirded out and know that it’s not a big deal.

More importantly, there’s something that I allude to several times and dance around before finally just OUTRIGHT saying what it is. It’s the thing that’s had the biggest impact on my adult life and the thing that I’m most scared to ever acknowledge. But it influences just about EVERY THING THAT I DO and – for that reason – I’m proud of myself for making art that does explicitly acknowledge it. In a sense, any time I make something that doesn’t reference that event, it’s a little bit dishonest. Because it’s always on my mind. It seeps into everything. So while it’s totally possible that someone reading this will be learning about it for the first time and will consequently make negative judgments about me, I feel like I’m doing the right thing by talking about it. My art’s always been all about honesty and vulnerability. If I want to stay true to that, I can’t be constantly leaving out of my work this thing that has so much power over me. I need to be transparent and just hope that I’ve shown the world enough of my heart for people to know that I am not someone who hurts people. I’m a sensitive little diaper baby who worries about even annoying other people. (In that spirit, let me also throw out a TRIGGER WARNING right up front). But the last thing I would ever do is anything to intentionally and seriously harm another human being.

With that said, here’s my newest painting and the text written into it…

“Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again)” 3/16/25. Acrylic paint and pigment ink. 40×40″.

This is the longest I’ve ever gone without falling in love. I think it’s probably because I’m old and NOT CUTE ANYMORE (so there are fewer girls interested-in-me for me to fall in love with). I’m also definitely not as BOLD as I once was though. A big part of that is the TRAUMA of what happened in summer 2015. But I DIGRESS… 

It could also be that – I’ve convinced myself my next girlfriend needs to be someone who does things (like me). Someone actively creative and inspiring, with things in her life that she’s passionate about. And then of course – because I’m broken – she also has to look a certain way. Because I need people to see me as someone who gets the girl everyone else wants. That NARROWS THE POOL.

But last month, I met such a girl. I was impressed, (I think) genuinely interested, and it seemed like maybe she might kinda like me too. (She gave me her phone number (unprompted) when she had no reason to give me her phone number). For a minute, it seemed like it might-maybe, could-potentially be a thing, but I never tested it. I never said anything direct or even flirty enough to get a response that I could gauge. And then I stopped interacting ‘cause my feelings were hurt by something that probably shouldn’t have hurt my feelings in the first place. But I figured if there were anything there, she’d find a way to let me know. But she didn’t.

The prints I sell of my drawing “Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should” are – I don’t want to sell them anymore. The photograph from which they’re made is no good because I took it before I knew what I was doing. But that print sells a lot so I wanted a replacement.

I started a new drawing based on the original but wasn’t happy. I changed the caption to “Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should – EXCEPT FOR THIS.” That didn’t make it feel any better.

The night I met the girl, I’d just finished the RV and was really proud of it. I had the notion in my head that I wanted to show it to her, but it’d have been weird to ask this girl I’d just met to (1) leave an event, (2) walk down the dark street, and (3) follow me into my vehicle/home. But then, at the end of the night, just as I finished packing up and was prepared to drive off, there she was on the sidewalk, gesturing at me like, “hey – what’s this?”  I asked her if she wanted to come in and see, she did, and she wound up hanging out/talking for at least 30 minutes (even though it was 1am and we both needed to get going).

She told me she believes everything works out exactly as it should, even when she can’t see how. When she can’t see “the full picture” yet, she said that’s okay because she will eventually – so she just has faith in the meantime.

I’ve been reminding myself of that lately but it’s a challenge. When I first got out of rehab, started as an artist, and drew the original “EWOEaIS,” I was in a wild place spiritually. I’d finally let go of my DOGMATIC NIHILISM and “nothing fucking matters” attitude and was in the unfamiliar territory of gratitude and faith – not [faith] in anything specific but just generally. My hostility toward religion was even gone and I had this kinda hippy-dippy, go-with-the-flow, everything-is-cool-for-everyone sorta mentality.

That faded over time (especially after summer 2015) and my old “nothing matters”/“I don’t believe in anything” mindset returned to fill the gap.

As that girl and I texted over the next week or so, I had a thought: “Fuck that drawing; I should make my big work-in-progress painting into my new ‘Everything Works Out’ [and incorporate the conversation we’d had].” That was a game changer. The painting needed direction, this felt like the right one, and I figured Rick (to whom it was pre-sold) would like it. But it needed an update to be real and honest because I no longer believe everything works out exactly as it should.

“Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again).” 

Which is absolutely, painfully true.

It’s really, really hard for me to imagine what good could ever come from that incident in summer 2015. (And let’s just say it: I was accused of a rape that I didn’t do).

Nothing’s been the same since. It’s been much worse. It took 9 years for me to work up the courage to even try to have a life again. In those years, I thoroughly believed I’d never again be as happy or successful as I had been before the accusation. And I’m still not sure that’s wrong. But I’m trying very hard to believe (and prove) otherwise. I’m working to rebuild my art career and livelihood and – ever since my last relationship fell apart and I got clean – I’m trying to find love again.

So far, the first part’s going better than the second. Not well enough that I’m satisfied but well enough that I probably should be. (At least considering how little time I’ve been back at it). With regard to both though, I’m hopeful. I don’t believe they’ll work out, but I’m pretty sure they won’t if I’m not giving it my all. So that’s what I’ve been doing.

Maybe that’s why I met that girl: just to hear her tell me that just because I can’t SEE how everything will work out – that doesn’t mean that it won’t.

Maybe the partnership and career I’ll have someday will only be possible because of what I went through ten years ago. It’s tough to envision, but I’d like to believe it.

That’s where the painting’s text ends. For anyone that’s just now learning about what I went through ten years ago, I hope you don’t now think I’m A VIOLENT SCUMBAG and do, in fact, believe me when I say that (as rare as they may be) false accusations do happen. I obviously wasn’t convicted of anything but it was still enough to shatter me. Maybe that’s because I’m so sensitive and maybe I let it effect me more than I should have, but… it really has taken all the strength I can muster to even be writing something like this right now. To even be going out in public like I have been. I’m pretty terrified to even be typing these words right now. It’s not something I want to publicize because I still worry that there are people out there who know nothing about what really happened but will still try to use it to hurt me.

I could probably ramble on about this forever, so I’m gonna cut myself off here. On a more positive note, I’ve got a handful of events scheduled in the Sarasota and Tampa areas (and one in Lakeland this weekend) and I’ll be regularly adding more, so be sure to keep an eye on the Events page.

And (of course) if you’d like to buy a print of this painting, you can find it in my webstore. The original painting is already sold but (like I said) I do have a 3×3′ giclée on canvas for sale, so reach out if you’re interested in that. It’s NINE TIMES BIGGER than the 12×12″ prints and looks AWESOME.

Thank you for your time, attention, and consideration. I know what it’s like to have lost everything, I’m so grateful for what I’ve been able to get back so far, and I know that none it would be possible without your support. It really does mean the world to me.

If you’re not already, follow me on TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook for more regular updates! And if you missed it, check out the entry I just posted YESTERDAY for my other new painting: “Motivation (Will Work for Food (maybe) / Will Beat Off on Live Webfeed For Perfect Love and Acceptance).”

Peeing in the Pool (of Tears (You’re Drowning In))

January 21, 2025

“Peeing in the Pool (of Tears (You’re Drowning In))” 1/4/25. Acrylic paint. 18×24″.

Trans women are women. Trans women aren’t women. It shouldn’t take longer than 30 minutes for a restaurant to serve a customer after their order’s been placed. JESUS CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SINS.

People have all kinds of beliefs. But at the end of the day, they don’t fucking matter. They are of absolutely zero consequence. I see people twisting themselves into knots, making themselves sick to their stomachs over their beliefs, just about every day. It’s fucking stupid. It accomplishes nothing. Sure – some beliefs are a little more valid than others (AT LEAST ACCORDING TO ME) but they’re rarely – if ever – anything to lose sleep over.

I’m pretty self-absorbed. So when I see someone flipping the fuck out because reality isn’t honoring some belief of theirs, I can’t help but think, “Don’t you have any real problems to be upset about?” It’s like that expression: “rich kids care about politics.” In order to be heavily invested in shit that doesn’t directly effect you, you’ve either got to have a pretty problem-free life or else put your own problems to the side.

I’ve written before about a time in my life when I would keep up with world events and get pretty emotionally invested in issues like war, or access to clean drinking water, or – whatever. (And – DON’T TELL ANYONE but – if I stumble onto something like those recent Gaza videos (children getting killed in war zones, or other shit like that) I’m probably still gonna cry). But I recognized a long time ago that that’s not doing me (or anyone else) any good. So I try not to focus on that sort of thing anymore.

If someone has the ability and will to dedicate themself to solving some problem for the sake of other people’s safety or health, that’s great. Anyone that’s actually doing good in the world, I commend and thank you. But for everyone else, it’s just not worth the emotional energy to stress over things you can’t control. And when people are losing their shit over things that TRULY don’t matter (or in many cases aren’t even fucking REAL (like last year’s “Haitians are eating cats and dogs”)) that’s when I start having thoughts like, “I want everyone who believes in anything to drown in a pool of their own tears that I can swim (AND PEE) in.”

So does that mean that I don’t believe in anything? Of course not. I believe that people should treat each other with respect. I believe that everyone (regardless of what country they’re born in) should be equal under the law. But I’m a fucking basket case. It’s a full-time job just to keep me from killing myself with drugs or otherwise hurting myself. I’m thoroughly preoccupied with Sam. So – for the most part – anything beyond my control is none of my fucking business or concern. I try to take care of my own shit, I try to be a good person, and I don’t fucking stress about it when other people don’t do those things. When I’m doing well and I’ve got money, will I maybe make a donation here or there? Sure. Even when I don’t have money, will I maybe give away what-I-do-have to some random person who’s even worse off than me? ON OCCASION. But it’s not doing anyone any good for me to be arguing on the internet, screaming at a town hall, or losing my mind because something didn’t go my way – so I don’t. (And if you do, I’m going to laugh at you).

And make a snarky painting about it. ‘Cause it’s important to have fun. I REALLY BELIEVE THAT.

(Just kidding).

Because I’m TERRIFIED TO SAY ANYTHING CONTROVERSIAL ON THE INTERNET, let me just really clarify my intent here: This painting is not truly making fun of people who have beliefs – only those who get OVERLY EMOTIONAL about their beliefs. The painting’s caption (“I want anyone who believes in anything to drown in a pool of their own tears – that I can swim (and pee) in“) is only phrased as it is because it’s more fun that way. Being a nihilistic little shit WHO DOESN’T CARE ABOUT NOTHIN’ is fun.

I finished another painting between this and “She’s Cut With Xylazine” that I haven’t yet shared because it’s much larger and, consequently, more difficult to photograph properly. But that is COMING SOON. I also know that I failed to keep my promise to write the statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From” by the end of 2024. But I have a TO-DO LIST APP on my phone now and that’s right at the top of it so… maybe I’ll get to it by the end of 2025. (I kid, but that one is really tough to write about; I’ve gotta be in a really good frame of mind to tackle something like that). In any case, prints of “Peeing in the Pool” are now up in the webstore. I had an event cancelled on Sunday so could USE THE INCOME if you’d like to pick one up.

Oh! Hey! Speaking of events, I have my first (well, first since I started back up anyway) gallery show booked! It’ll open on February 8th at the Love+Art+Repeat Gallery on Central Avenue in downtown Sarasota. More details on that coming soon!

And here are all the events I have scheduled at the moment…

  • February 8: Sammy thrashLife solo exhibition, opening night (Sarasota)
  • February 9: Love Yourself wellness market (Sarasota)
  • February 16: St. Pete Sunday Market (St Petersburg)
  • March 7+8: Village of the Arts artwalk (Bradenton)
  • March 9: Tropical Soirée artwalk (Sarasota)
  • March 15+16: Punk Rock Flea Market (Sarasota)
  • April 13: Spring Market & Artwalk (Sarasota)

I’ll put up a calendar soon with more details (and even more events) but, in the meantime, I’m sure you can find details on THE GOOGLE or you can always contact me with any questions.

It also occurs to me that it’s been a minute since I really shared much about what’s going on in my everyday life (and there’s been a LOT) so let me catch you up…

I did my first public event (in more than 9 years) in the last week of November. Since then, I’ve been getting out pretty regularly. Aside from one underwhelming night and one underwhelming event, it’s gone really well so far. I was so scared to get clean and try to rebuild this Sammy thrashLife thing that essentially is my life, but – at least so far – I’ve been very pleasantly surprised. Not only have I been making enough money to support myself, I’ve been meeting lots of people and finding lots of opportunities to do more and more out in the world. (The aforementioned gallery show, so far, being the most exciting of them).

I also bought an RV! Remember years ago when I was doing this art thing all across the country? Well this vehicle will set me up to do that again. Because of my commitment to my grandparents (who moved to Sarasota to be closer to my dad, only for him to suddenly die shortly thereafter – leaving me as their only family in the area), I likely won’t be making any trips that are too long or too far for now, but I’m still excited to get out and do as much as I can.

When I bought the RV, it was barely running and not in great shape but I’ve been working really hard on it (and paying people to do the jobs that I can’t handle myself) and it’s really coming together. It was initially a shuttle bus that someone else had mostly converted to an RV but then given up on before finishing. It has a bathroom (with shower, toilet, and sink), a tankless water heater, and a kitchen (with a sink and a propane stove) – NONE of those were working when I got it; now they all are. I also got an electrical system installed with a small battery and electrical outlets so I can plug in and charge my computer, phone, etc even without the engine running. I put a new mattress in. I built a custom rack to store my paintings. I sealed up some leaks and cracks in the roof/exterior. I’m almost finished with the walls of the bathroom (some of which were incomplete) and sealing the shower so that water doesn’t get out and damage the walls or floors. It’s been (and continues to be) a huge undertaking but when it’s all finished, I think I’m going to have something really cool that I’ll be able to be kinda proud of. It’s still not got air conditioning or heat at the moment and I also need to get and install a ladder on the outside, a rack for my easel, and a platform for the generator (that I’ll also need to buy so that I can recharge my electrical system/battery, and power the A/C once I get that installed) but – seeing as it could only drive 15mph when I got it and had NOTHING working inside, I’m really happy with the progress so far.

I suppose that’s all for now. I’ll share pictures and/or videos of the thrashBus once it’s all done. (HAVE I MENTIONED THOUGH THAT YOU SHOULD FOLLOW ME ON TIKTOK? And check out the short video I posted there about this painting’s secret).

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this – and thank you to everyone I’ve met recently that’s offered me an opportunity, hosted me at an event, or bought my artwork. I really can’t express how much all of it means to me. I don’t even wanna imagine what my life would be like without all of you.

And – as much as I hate to cheapen that sentiment by following it with a commercial plug, I did wanna end this post with a special offer exclusive to the people who actually read the blog. (I won’t be advertising this anywhere else). Use the promo code W!NT3R for 25% off any/everything in my webstore.

That’s everything. TALK SOON 😜

The residue

August 6, 2015

Okay, here’s the difference between now and the other two times I’ve used since getting clean: this didn’t happen in the course of some short out-of-town project. Those times, I finished what i was doing and then had to leave town to get back to my regular life. This time, it happened in the course of my regular life. I don’t have anywhere to run to, I still have things to do here in NY, there’s nothing pulling me “back” to anywhere else. The fact that it’s really easy to cop dope here doesn’t help. I thought I’d be able to bounce out of the hospital with a smile on my face and a “well that’s over – what’s next?!” attitude. And I did feel that way for a minute. But the residue of this shit is sticking with me and won’t leave me alone. And I feel alone. And I wanna use. I kinda really wanna use. And I can’t even remember the last time I felt that way.

And it’s not like I think it’s gonna be fun or that it’ll even be okay. I know it’s all bad, I know it’s all downhill but I still can’t shake the feeling. I’ve already had the thought of “well, if I’m gonna use, I might as well OD intentionally this time (and without anybody else around to call 911). ‘Cause I don’t like feeling like I wanna use. And even though I know this shit’s temporary – that I’ve lived without this feeling for the better part of three years now – the present bias is strong in me. And for all the positivity and optimism that comes with my current brand of nihilism, my personal philosophy doesn’t include any great reasons to continue living unless I’m enjoying it. And I am (I guess) – for the most part – up until moments like this.

I don’t fucking know. I’m not saying I wanna kill myself. I’m definitely not saying I need to go back into treatment. I’m sure this shit will pass in another day or two. I just… my head’s just all fucked up right now and I’m not enjoying it. I’m probably making it out to sound worse than it is.

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.

Life is Meaningless!

September 11, 2013

All day, I’ve been working on that ridiculously oversized drawing (the one I mentioned starting yesterday). I think I’ve put at least twelve hours into it so far. I might have problems.

Here’s the third of my nine learning-to-draw-with-charcoal “sketches” – the first four of which were done while sitting in a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. The drawing’s from January, but this statement is from May.

I saw someone selling paintings with flat-color backgrounds behind characters like Merle from “The Walking Dead.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” I thought. “What’s the value in (or purpose of) a fucking portrait of a television show character, with nothing added at all to even personalize it?” I was pretty contemptuous for someone that’s trying to be – you know – well. But I realized: I don’t know why that guy paints, I don’t know what he gets out of it, and it really doesn’t matter. Maybe he’s the artistic equivalent of a rock’n’roll cover band playing in some bar every night – and maybe I’m a judgmental little shithead who just started painting a few months ago and should shut the fuck up.

The only thing that’s certain in all of this is that none of it matters. None of it is important. I’m sure there are people that think a portrait of Merle is great and that everything I’ve ever made belongs in a landfill. They’re not wrong.

I don’t wanna be judgmental and there’s no logical criteria from which I can really judge anyway. So… “I shot heroin. You paint TV characters. Life is meaningless!”

I don’t mean that pessimistically. If life has no inherent meaning, each of us can assign significance (or insignificance) to whatever we want, to whatever degree we want. That’s a pretty wonderful, freeing concept.

Admittedly, the statement, “Life is meaningless!,” was on my mind because I had been revisiting my Nate Gangelhoff zines and he used the phrase (hysterically) in an imagined scene wherein executives greenlight the publication of a Mr. T comic book. That’s in the third issue of “You Idiot” but both of his books and all of his zines are really spectacular.

"Life is Meaningless!" 1/16/13. Charcoal on scrap. 4x6".
“Life is Meaningless!” 1/16/13. Charcoal on scrap. 4×6″.

Bright Side Nihilism: (Syria +/= Video Music Awards) < The Dog Peed on the Futon

September 2, 2013

I don’t have the slightest idea what’s happening in Syria. Something about weapons or genocide or… [who the fuck knows?] (Not me!). I am intentionally ignorant of it. I don’t give a shit. Not because I have some sort of bigoted animosity toward people in that part of the world, but because it’s not good for my mental health to be concerned with it. I don’t stress about it for the same reason I don’t stress about whether my friends in other parts of the country are consumed by drugs and at risk of dying. Because I can’t control it, I can’t change it, and worrying about it isn’t going to bring about anything positive for anyone.

I have a memory from when I was twenty years old. I was reading constantly and the things I was reading were consuming my thoughts. I remember walking through a grocery store and I started to cry (just a little bit) because I was thinking about water privatization in South America. I’m not interested in living that way anymore.

I saw some stuff on Facebook this week, criticizing our culture at large for being so consumed by the spectacle of MTV’s video music awards. I don’t give a shit about that either, but I actually saw some of it. (I went over to Angie and Alex’s house last night with Heather because Andrew and Claire came into town. They wanted to see some parts of the VMAs so Alex pulled it up on their magical internet television). I didn’t think it was awesome and I didn’t think it was the worst thing to ever happen. But it was really fucking boring. But [whatever]. It’s not important because – like Syria – things like that don’t need to be a part of my life at all.

Is it sad that bad things happen every day, whether or not we know about them? Absolutely. Is it frustrating that people obsess over (what I think is) vapid garbage “entertainment?” Sometimes, I guess. But none of it matters. Nothing matters. Not inherently. Things only have the significance that I assign to them. I don’t know if you’d call it a sort of nihilism or a “personal relativism” or what, but I get to choose my own truths and I get to create my own world.

As the only text on this painting (that isn’t in the title) says, “I like colors and contrast, bad teeth, crooked smiles, and nonsense. Things are better than they’ve ever been.”

"Bright Side Nihilism: (Syria +/= Video Music Awards) < The Dog Peed on the Futon." 9/1/13. Mixed media. 30x40".
“Bright Side Nihilism: (Syria +/= Video Music Awards) < The Dog Peed on the Futon.” 9/1/13. Mixed media. 30×40″.

This was the biggest fresh canvas I’ve ever worked with. I started on Thursday (8/29) and finished last night. It is acrylic, watercolor, pen, marker, carbon, and oil pastel.

Aside from “colors and contrast,” here’s something else that matters to me. Last night, when I was trying to figure out how to get a high-resolution photograph of something this big (and getting a little bit annoyed with how poorly my efforts were going) I realized that I was sitting alone in my kitchen, bouncing around in my seat, and singing along to this song. It made it a little tougher to feel at all annoyed or frustrated.

Edit(!): I can’t get the song to embed! Just go here and absorb everything: thebrokedowns.com

The original painting is sold. Prints are available in the webstore. Buy one and help me sleep indoors another night!

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