SICK GIRLS

September 24, 2026

Mental Health Services Available to Strippers Junkies, Cutters, and Other SICK GIRLS | 9-21-2026* | 48 x 36 in | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas

WE ARE ATTRACTED (AND ATTRACTIVE) TO THOSE WITH EQUIVALENT LEVELS OF MENTAL HEALTH. 

I was single for the first time in years, painting for the first time since I’d relapsed, and wanted something that functioned as an ad to put on my Tinder profile. A painting that said: “Hey! Are you a SICK GIRL?! Well, CHECK ME OUT! ‘Cause if you’re seriously damaged, we’re a PERFECT MATCH!” Only as the painting was nearly finished, did I come up with…

MENTAL HEALTH SERVICES AVAILABLE TO STRIPPERS, JUNKIES, CUTTERS, AND OTHER SICK GIRLS

I was extremely pleased with myself. That self-satisfaction salved a lot of the anxiety I’d felt as I painted and journaled across the canvas all month.

In addition to the sentence that opens this statement, the painting is filled with those small-print journals:

Yo – I am super fucking codependent. It’s been maybe two weeks that I’ve been “single” and I’m already fiending like a lonely little sad sack. Painting helps but less so on a back porch than in public with a stream of validation and girls.

I keep thinking if I could just find the right record to listen to or the right colors to energize me or the right title to plaster across this thing, I might get excited to paint and not just want to go lay down. I’m smoking way too many cigarettes, sitting out here, NOT painting.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

People say shit like, “You don’t know how good you had it ’til you lost it.” I don’t know if I knew [before my relapse]. I honestly might have. (Certainly at times; in moments, I knew how lucky I was). One thing I know absolutely: I DON’T HAVE IT THAT GOOD ANYMORE. But I still got something. I still got some things (people, a bed, whatever) to be grateful for. I’m thinking maybe this is one of those times to realize how good I got it before I don’t anymore…

I’m not sure what’s motivating my behavior. I mean, I know I’m codependent. I miss her. But I’m not doing everything I could to get her back to me. Is that what I should be doing? I’ve been chasing other  girls… “Chasing” is a strong word. I’m barely even casting my line out. But is it even fair to do that? Am I even looking for anyone as more than a temporary substitute until I can have her again? (I don’t like that I’m writing this, knowing it’ll soon be public record. No girl wants to be a placeholder. I’m not doing myself any favors putting this out there). Whatever.

I’m lonely but I miss her. I’m lonely because I miss her. I miss her because I’m lonely. At least one of those is true. (Or more true than the others). I don’t know which one. I absolutely love her. But do I need her back because I love her or just because I’m codependent? 

I’m having plenty of fun without her. I probably wouldn’t go out as much if she were here. But part of that is because I’d be more content just being at home with her. Content. With her. That sounds like not a bad thing. 

If we’re apart for long enough for her to get over me, which I’m piss-scared of, I need to be (ready to be) over her. That’s probably not gonna happen unless I meet someone else. A right someone else. That doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world but, in my current state, doesn’t seem super likely. Then again, the sale of a painting or two could drastically change my “current state.”

GIRLS AND MONEY. [That’s what it always comes down to with me]. I’m no more substantial than mainstream hip hop. AWESOME.

This little bit of clean time and my return to art wouldn’t last long. I sold a few paintings and used the money to buy a motorcycle, bring Wallis down to Sarasota (where I was living), and get us our own apartment. By June 2018, I was fully back on heroin and off art.

Though I’d get one more (even shorter) bit of clean time at the end of 2018, the relapse as a whole lasted more than 8 years (2015-2024). Only at the very end of 2024 did I finally start to get my life and art career back on track.

There’s another bit of text in the painting that says, “All my girlfriends have scars.” I tied this to the statement about attraction between people with equivalent levels of mental health – the implication being that my girlfriends’ self-harm scars mirror my own damage (external and internal). As I’ve noted previously, quite a few of the girls I’ve dated have been cutters. Certainly not by design. I’m usually too oblivious to even clock self-harm scars initially. I once had the experience of noticing a girl’s extensive scarring only after waking up next to her.

What you’re reading – this is the second statement I’ve written for this piece. The first was drafted during the second pause in my relapse. That draft closed with this passage:

My new girlfriend, Juliana, has a history with self-harm.  As time passes, I’m hoping it proves to be just that: history. But, in any case, it’s no coincidence that she (LIKE ME) “suffers” from some mental health issues. Honestly, if she didn’t – if she were completely well-adjusted – I have a hard time believing that she’d have any interest in me. She’s just too wonderful. Really, her only issue is insecurity. Especially when it comes to my past with other girls. THIS ARTIST’S STATEMENT IS CERTAINLY EXACERBATING THAT. She cannot handle anything involving my past with other girls. I don’t know exactly why it’s such a sensitive area for her but I know that [in] her previous relationships, she has not had the loving partners she deserves. I’m proud that she s already repeatedly tells me that no one has ever treated her as well as I do and that I make her very happy. It’s my hope that – just in loving her and treating her well – I’ll be able to help her feel secure, safe, and loved. Which isn’t to say she’s a “project” for me to “fix,” but I can’t deny that the title of this painting still has some application to my life.

So we’re both sick but I think we’re good for each other.

WE’LL SEE HOW IT GOES…

So how did it go? 

NOT WELL. Her insecurity, jealousy, and (as I’d soon discover) secret alcoholism would coalesce into violent fits of rage. I should have just walked away but my codependency kept me locked in and kickstarted me back into relapse. When I finally got clean in 2024, it was only because we’d just finally broken up.

Love and chaos can be exciting but I’m ready for love and stability.

I “finished” this painting years ago, before disappearing for a decade. Upon my return, it became my best-selling print but the original hadn’t sold. As much as people loved it, I was getting embarrassed putting it up on display. It didn’t meet my new, higher standards. So, last month, I decided to TUNE IT UP and repainted something like 90% of the canvas. Even the elements I kept, were repainted in new spots, sizes, or colors.

I also added some new text. There’s a note about how I stole the design of the ring pop (near the bottom center) from a painting by Marlo Graham. There’s a passage about how this painting no longer reflects where I’m at or what I’m offering (or looking for) in a relationship. Some other stuff too.

Here’s a side-by-side comparison of the painting as it once was and what it is today:

2017
2026

Pretty much everything I’ve painted this year has been my new favorite painting. It’s exciting.

Lots of upcoming shows. Details are on the Events page.

Availability and prices of original paintings, giclées, or other prints upon request.

What We Do

September 8, 2026

My painting, Don’t Let Anyone Tell You You Can’t Kill Yourself, You TOTALLY Can, is a guide to overcoming suicidal ideation by changing your circumstances. It was born of my own experience and, like much of my work, is a whole lot of vulnerability and sincerity hiding behind the protective shield of its mischievous title (which, in this case, is a joke about grammar).

I’ve heard from lots of people who struggle with mental health, about how much they love it or how its inspired them.

At Mount Gretna, I heard more of that PLUS ANOTHER KINDA REACTION. One of the [art] show’s volunteers quit over it. Later as a woman looked over my work, smiling and commenting on the pieces she liked most, her husband lingered outside the front of the booth. When she moved on to the next artist, this guy stayed in that same spot until…

“You should kill yourself,” he said.

“Why would I do that?” I asked with a smirk, not yet realizing how serious he was.

“Because it would be funny to me,” he said, deadpan. “I’d even pay to make it happen. I’ll donate to your funeral if you kill yourself.”

How do you even respond to that? Doesn’t matter. He turned and disappeared into the crowd as soon as the words were outta his mouth.

I’m tempted to make excuses for him. Maybe he lost someone he loves to suicide. Though he didn’t even bother to try to understand my painting – which should be a fucking prerequisite before you get pissed off at art. Doesn’t matter. Here’s what does:

What We Do | 8-25-2026 | 36 x 24 in | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas

WE ARE WHAT WE DO.

The kind of person you think you are? Fuckin’ meaningless. The things you’ve been through? They don’t excuse shit.

YOU ARE YOUR ACTIONS.

This is something I remind myself of all the time. ‘Cuz it got beat into me real early that I was born bad. 

But I’m not bad, unless I do bad. So I’m regularly asking myself, “What’d you do today, Sam?”

“a pile of red boxes dances along to the raging moral and spiritual conflicts that rattle his (presumably) cardboard bones, i sing songs and paint funny faces, and some dickhead tells me to kill myself. ‘SUP WITH YOU?”

Pretty much the same thing I do most days. I shared my very personal art and writing with the world. Whatever humor or insight I have, I shared with people who FOR THE MOST PART loved and appreciated it. I made a few people cry, dozens laugh, and hundreds smile. And I painted – as I sang along to punk rock and had conversations with people who told me they were inspired. That I was a light. I got a lot of thank yous, handshakes, and hugs.

I have a positive impact. And THOUGH I CAN BE BRASH, I’m kind (or at least try to be) to everyone. That’s what I did on Sunday.

This guy, on the other hand, I’m guessing he thinks he’s a good person. And MAYBE HE IS –  I don’t know what else he did that day. But I do know that he told someone who – at least historically – would best be described as an emotionally unstable mental case – he cold told that person: kill yourself.

I’m doing pretty well these days. I can brush it off. Was I rattled? More than I’d like to admit. But I’ll be alright. 

I’m not gonna kill myself. I’m gonna continue waking up every day, trying to be the best person I can, by making the best choices I can.

We’re what we do.

Do good today.

I’m SO SAD to report that three of my five most recent paintings (including this one) are already sold. But if you’d like to find out which paintings are still available, you can always shoot me a message. Buy prints in my webstore or come see me in person.

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At War with God

August 3, 2026

At War with God | 7-23-2026 | 12 x 36 in | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas

I’m so bored of explaining AT WAR WITH GOD. 

It’s an absurd, amusing concept. If you believe in God, you believe he’s the all-powerful creator of all things. No one would GO TO WAR with something like that because you know you’d lose. Unless you’re fucking insane. In which case you’re probably not a functional human being with the discipline and organization to make a living as a full-time artist.

And yet people see this painting and get upset. Like it’s literal. Like I’m trying to RECRUIT THEIR CHILDREN AS FOOT SOLDIERS TO STORM THE GATES OF HEAVEN.

I don’t like authority. Words like “insubordinate” and “rebellion” are exciting to me. I like an underdog or a fun villain. And Leonardo is the worst ninja turtle. You know what makes for good characters? Flaws. God’s not interesting.

But when you make God relatable, bring him down to your level…

Cap’n Jazz sang “Hey, God – I dare you to SAY IT TO MY FACE?” Characterizing God as a petty coward who only talks his shit behind your back – SO MUCH FUN.

As much as I’d like to believe in God, I don’t. It’s just not in me. But it’s FUN TO PRETEND – to have him as a symbolic adversary. 

The world’s never felt like it was designed for my success. Life’s often felt rigged against me. If God created this game I’m not meant to win, then every success is a skirmish I’ve won in my WAR WITH GOD.

Christians will say I’ve got it backward. My successes are God lifting me up. 

Who cares?

Certainly not an all-knowing, all powerful God. 

AJJ sang “My god thinks my jokes are funny.” Why wouldn’t he? Is God UPTIGHT? Is he too dull to have a sense of humor – or recognize when something is provocative but innocuous? Not a chance.

God’s benevolent. And a benevolent God doesn’t punish jokes or condemn his children to eternal suffering. And he certainly doesn’t condemn THIS CHILD. 

‘Cuz I may be OCCASIONALLY PROVOCATIVE (and, admittedly, A LITTLE SELF-ABSORBED) but I make best efforts every day to be a source of light and a force for good.

If that’s not enough for God… 

eye roll  shrug   fuck ‘im.

Prices and availability of original paintings, giclées, and custom prints are available upon request. Some prints are available for purchase in the webstore. Check my calendar to see if I’m coming to your area anytime soon. Follow me on Instagram or TikTok for more regular updates (and nonsense). Subscribe to my newsletter if you want to get an email every month or so (whenever I finish a new painting).

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All I Really Need to Know I Learned from a Drunk 14 Year-Old at the Mall

July 24, 2026

All I Really Need to Know I Learned from a Drunk 14 Year-Old at the Mall | 7-2-2026 | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 48 x 30 in

These days, I’m mostly happy, most of the time. But – conceptually – misery, self-loathing, and apathy are still MY FAVORITE. Maybe that’s because I spent so much of my life soaking in despair, that it just feels safe to me. Comfortable. 

In conversations about compelling lyrics, I often cite a song by The Murderburgers that opens with: “I’m an ugly piece of shit with a fucked up face and broken teeth and no place to go” and closes with “I’m trying to find a way out that doesn’t involve tying a noose and kicking a chair.”

I was at a show once with a really terrible band – the kind that’s embarrassing enough to want to lead the audience in a call-and-response sorta chant. Their specific chant was particularly embarrassing: “WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK.” My eyes couldn’t have rolled any harder. Because NO ONE loves sentiments like “I don’t give a fuck,” “I don’t care about nothin’,” and “NOTHING MATTERS” more than I do – but only with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Because that shit’s not real. It’s armor against hurt. Your friend can’t let you down if you never really considered him a friend. Rejection doesn’t hurt if you don’t give a shit about the girl rejecting you.

I’d like to think I’ve become pretty good about stepping back and getting myself to a more reasonable place (emotionally), but so often my kneejerk reaction to hurt is:

I don’t need anyone.

I don’t need anything.

I don’t EVEN CARE.

I journaled those exact words once when my girlfriend and I weren’t getting along. It didn’t take me long to realize that I sounded like a fucking child. Like the kind of wounded idiot 14 year-old I’d imagine might get drunk at a mall.

 There’s a song by House Boat that closes with the lyric, “If it seems like I don’t care – well, I care a lot. I’ve never, ever cared this much before.”

That admission’s stuck with me. It’s one thing to acknowledge your hurt and pain. It’s another to expressly acknowledge that your hurt and pain only exist because you care so deeply.

Like Bats’ lyrics are so delightfully childish and spiteful that virtually all of them sound like a drunk 14 year-old at the mall – with one notable exception: “caring about nothing is nothing to be proud of.”

If you’d like to hear any of the songs referenced by this painting:
Another Way Out of Here by The Murderburgers
Now We are 31 by House Boat
Lousy by Like Bats

Later this afternoon, I’ll set up for my Chicago show this weekend. In August, I’ve got two shows in Minneapolis and two in Pennsylvania. For more details and more upcoming shows, check the Events page.

It took me a minute to get this painting photographed so I’ve ALREADY GOT ANOTHER just about ready to go. Keep an eye out for it next week. I’m really excited about everything I’ve made this year and how well everything’s going. Follow me on social media if you want more regular, more specific updates.

Use the contact form if you’ve got questions about pricing or availability of originals or prints.

D.L.A.T.Y.Y.C.K.Y.Y.T.C.

June 4, 2026

D.L.A.T.Y.Y.C.K.Y.Y.T.C. | 5-24-2026 | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 24 x 30 in

I thought I’d be living at Tranquil Shores for at least another two months but when I went into the clinical office that morning, I found out I only had ten days before my discharge.

I felt shattered. Caught completely off-guard. I walked back to the residential property alone and remembered a conversation I’d had with my sister 18 months earlier.

I’d just been released from the hospital, following an attempted overdose. “You can’t kill yourself, Sam. That’s so selfish,” she told me.

Fuck you, I thought. “You know what’s really selfish, Racey? Expecting me to endure this kind of pain every day – to keep on with this shitty, empty life – devoid of any happiness whatsoever – so that you can call me on the phone two or three times a year.”

You wouldn’t be reading this right now if my life hadn’t EVENTUALLY IMPROVED, but – back then – my life hurt. Every day was painful. I felt isolated, hopelessly addicted to heroin, and lost. I could see no way out. It didn’t have to be that way, but I didn’t yet have the emotional tools I needed to do anything about it. 

While I managed to turn my life around, some people suffer for decades on end. And as bitter and angry as I was when Racey said that to me, I’m still not sure we owe it to anyone else to stay stuck in a life like that.

That said – unless you’re in chronic pain or suffering from debilitating, UNABATING mental illness, you probably shouldn’t kill yourself. Not unless you’ve exhausted ALL other options. Because – as dark and miserable as life can be (and BELIEVE ME, I KNOW), it can also be pretty great.

If you’re truly ready to die, truly ready to give up on everything, then you’ve got nothing left to lose. So – before you kill yourself – lose it. Blow up your life before ending it. Choose uncertainty over unhappiness. Suicide is usually the consequence of feeling trapped. But you’re not trapped.

End the relationship. Quit your job. Break the lease. Disconnect your phone. Move across the country. Do whatever it takes to get out of your rut.

In my admittedly limited experience, when I make choices that demonstrate love (for myself and for others), things have a way of working out.

If all of this sounds impossible, I assure you: it’s easier than you think. If it sounds terrifying, do it anyway.

Worst case scenario: you were right, nothing gets better, and suicide is still an option.

DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE.

But it’s not a very good option.

Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

This painting is what I call an UPCYCLE. I took the concept from one of my very early paintings and used it for this new one. The one I’m working on now is gonna be another one.

ON A RELATED NOTE, I’ve got three fairly recent paintings that I decided weren’t quite good enough. They were CLOSE but not quite. In the past, I believed in leaving each painting as a snapshot of where I was at right when I made it. Fuck that. I don’t wanna hang or sell something I’m not 100% proud of and happy with. So I went back to work on those three paintings and now I’m even more excited about them than I was when they were brand new.

DLATYYCKYYTC is so titled as a nod to IYDKMRNIGE. I can rattle off either acronym LIKE IT’S NOTHIN’. (Yes, I’ve practiced).

Why Do Bad Things Happen to Bad People?

May 19, 2026

Bad People | 5/14/26 | acrylic paint, staples, and safety pins on the charred remains of a painting destroyed by fire | 24 x 30 in

My RV, filled with art, burnt down in February. A friend joked: “HOW MUCH PERSONAL LORE CAN ONE PERSON DEVELOP?”

The fire was devastating but bad stuff happens to me a lot, so I’m WELL-TRAINED for this sorta thing. I’ve got TRAUMA EXPERIENCE. 

Bad People is painted over the charred remains of Whole Wide World.

I haven’t always come out on top and sometimes it’s taken me years to recover, but the fire didn’t beat me. I was back on the road doing art shows that week.

In March, I was invited to some art fairs that were still 7 months away and given the option to pay the full registration cost or just a deposit. I’d have preferred to just pay in full and be done with it but I was scared.

WHO KNOWS IF I’LL EVEN MAKE IT THAT FAR? Maybe I won’t be making art by then. Maybe I’ll have lost everything. Maybe my life will be some kind of fucked up I can’t even predict. 

I don’t really think that – I’m doing well lately and I feel SOLID AS FUCK. But it also feels a little myopic(?) to ignore my history. To not acknowledge it makes me feel self-conscious – like I’m failing to recognize what EVERYONE ELSE IS PROBABLY THINKING: “This won’t last. Sam can’t keep it together.”

Growing up, I never made it more than three years at one school. Same (to this day) with homes. And I’ve never held a job for even three months. (NOT THAT I WANT ONE).

I don’t even like to mention it anymore because I’m tired of it being such a big part of my identity but – until now – I’d never even made it two years off heroin (or fentanyl).

I’m extremely bright, extremely competent, and extremely UNSTABLE. 

I could do ANYTHING – except for that instability. It’s made me kind of a fucking loser. At least at times. My life’s a lot of very impressive accomplishments and a lot of really pathetic, wasted years.

I’m self-absorbed. I think I’m sorta naturally inconsiderate. I’m prone to arrogance and kinda entitled. But I’m also sensitive, empathetic. I think I usually do the right thing, even if it’s not always my first instinct. 

I don’t think I’m a bad person but does anyone really? I do think I’m sometimes bad at being a person. But I’m getting better. I’m trying anyway.

Related work:

Before the fire, this painting was The Whole Wide World Can Suck My Dick (but, like, in a Fun Way).

Before I transformed Wide World into Bad People, I made an entirely new painting (Fruit of the Poisonous Me) all about my experience of the fire.

I’d initially planned to do an entire series of new work on the charred remains of the paintings I lost in the fire. After processing everything through Fruit though – and now having done Bad People – I’m feeling like I’m sort of “over the fire” and ready to just move on. I still have those damaged paintings in storage though; maybe I’ll like the idea again by the time I get back to Florida. TIME WILL TELL.

Bad People sold on May 17, 2026. I’ve made prints but likely won’t add them to the webstore because I’m not sure I want the webstore to exist anymore. If you’d like one, your best bet is to COME FIND ME.

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NOTHING MATTRESS

April 27, 2026

NOTHING MATTRESS | 4/26/26 | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 24 x 12 in

Following Luckiest and Fruit, I was happy to paint something that would mostly just be fun. I’d recently learned that the ivermectin people ate for covid was a paste that often came in flavors for horses. So– in the face of death– Americans consumed APPLE-FLAVORED HORSE PASTE, in the hope thatthat could save them. This delighted me endlessly but, like most things by which I’m thoroughly amused, it gets very sad if you think about it too much. Yes, it’s stupid but also bleak.

BUT THAT’S NOT HOW I CHOOSE TO THINK ABOUT IT.

As I wrote on the canvas: LET THEM EAT CAKE APPLE-FLAVORED HORSE PASTE.

That’s where the painting started. But then Amanda had to go and have a fucking aneurysm. Actually three (but only one that ruptured). Suddenly, one of my very best friends was quite possibly going to die.

After a morning of updates and crying, I decided I needed to keep busy. It wasn’t long before I had a thought that felt really cold:

It’s fine. Amanda can die. NOTHING MATTERS.

As I reasoned in the moment: for whom do I want Amanda to live? Maybe wanting her to survive is just me being selfish. Surviving the aneurysm could mean a life of diminished brain function, frustration, and confusion. Death, on the other hand, is clean. Once she’s dead, all issues are null and void. She’s fine. Maybe moreso than anyone still living. 

Death is painful for those left behind, but we all die eventually and “if it doesn’t matter now, then it never really did.” So what’s that pain worth?

When I got back to the painting, in between “it’s okay I stole this title” and “NOTHING MATTRESS,” I wrote “Panda’s brains are broken.” But then:

It just occurred to me: by the time this painting is done, I might have to replace “brains are broken” with “DEAD.”

Even for me, that’s dark. And despite my earlier, colder assessment, it was deeply upsetting. I can intellectually reason my way to nihilism but that’s a coping mechanism. As I’d journaled on that first day:

I really, really want her to be okay. I want to talk to her and laugh about how scared I was.

I got to do that about a week later and I’m happy to report that – at least as of today – Amanda is still alive and doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. We’re optimistic about a full (or near full) recovery.

Maybe none of our pain or our lives are objectively worth anything. Maybe they don’t matter.

But they matter to me.

I guess I just love the taste of nihilism-flavored horse paste. 

AS NOTED, I stole this title. “Nothing Mattress” was a really cool comic and zine by Brian Connolly. When I found out other people were stealing “nothing mattress” (knowingly or otherwise) for other projects, I decided it was fair game. Especially since (1) NOTHING MATTERS and (2) I could use this statement as a corrective to let the world know that – regardless of where you first saw it – CREDIT GOES TO BRIAN. Or at least I think it does. I don’t know him but he was certainly the first to publicize the phrase at all. Either way, you should check out NOTHING MATTRESS by Brian Connolly.

It was suggested to me that I was the right person to launch a GoFundMe for Amanda and it was HARD FOR ME TO ARGUE OTHERWISE, so that’s what I did. At the time of this update, the campaign is still running. Make a donation or share it if you’re so inclined.

Oh – and if you buy one of these prints, write “Amanda” in the notes and I’ll donate the proceeds (in your name) to the fundraiser. For availability of the original painting or canvas giclées, send a message.

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