You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone (and Other Lies)

November 24, 2025

You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone (and Other Lies): The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah” | 8/30/25* | acrylic on canvas | 48×36″

It’ll get meaningful by the end, but what you’re gonna read up to that point is stupid as fuck. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I hate the feeling of BEING IN TROUBLE, especially for something that felt light-hearted. Brandon said he and Nick meant to take Callie’s pumpkins the other night but took another route home and forgot. 

“You wanna go get ‘em now?” I asked. “Sure,” he said. But then Amanda said Brandon wasn’t allowed to go, but I could. So I did. 

This is all for the BIRTHDAY PUMPKIN tradition, by the way. (Abridged explanation: it goes back to our teenage years, it’s basically just wrecking some leftover Halloween pumpkins; METHODS VARY).

I just got one of Brandon’s notoriously incomprehensible voice-to-text messages. I think he’s complaining about having to RETURN THE FUCKING PUMPKIN. Which makes no sense. WE’VE TAKEN CALLIE’S PUMPKINS BEFORE and it’s never been an issue. Why is this a fucking thing? And why is he giving me grief on my birthday for doing what he suggested I do?

I just made a video to promote the market I’m at this morning. I tagged the organizer but now I’m worried they’re gonna NOT LIKE IT ‘cause I said the word “fuck.” Granted, that hasn’t ACTUALLY happened but…

People are fucking squares and I’m NOT OPTIMISTIC about today, personally or professionally. The plan was Brandon and Amanda’s tonight (FOR BIRTHDAY) and now instead of that (or seeing ANYONE) I kinda just wanna isolate in a parking lot for the night.

I’m not TOTALLY BUMMING. It’s not cause for DEEP DESPAIR like it maybe woulda been in years past. But I’m feeling like “fuck everyone else in the world.”

My birthday’s not some precious thing to me. That’s why I booked this Tuesday morning market for today, even though it meant (1) I’d have to get up at 6am and (2) I’d likely spend three hours of my day on the manual labor of setting up and breaking down for very little financial return. (It’s a new market and this is bizarre scheduling so I’m not expecting much turnout). But on a Tuesday morning (even one that happens to be my BIRTHDAY) what else am I gonna do? The opportunity-cost (and fee) are low enough that it’s worth doing. 

So far, I’m enjoying being out here, painting and listening to punk rock, but I just started thinking about how I miss having A PERSON — and how my last person just yesterday flew across the country to go into rehab again. And then I started thinking about nurturing sick relationships. (Not with her; just in general). And THEN it occurred to me that I could use today and no one would ever know. AND I DOUBT I’M GONNA but I HAD THE THOUGHT.

It’s later now (5pm? 6?). Brandon asked if I’m coming over. (Not when, but if). I asked if he REALLY returned that pumpkin or if I got his message wrong. He said he did, so that Amanda “wouldn’t get pulled into PUMPKIN DRAMA.” [that emphasis is my own]. I said, “I don’t know why there’d have been drama and I definitely don’t know why Amanda would get pulled into it but okay.”

He didn’t call and say, “Let’s not stress it; it’s your birthday. Let’s just have a good time.” He texted back: “if you wanna argue about it, maybe it wouldn’t be a good birthday dinner.”

So I just thumbs-upped that shit and I’m not going. Was tempted to say, “OKAY SEE YOU IN DECEMBER” but it’s a sicker move to just let them both (eventually) realize they’re not gonna see me for (at least) 5 weeks now.

Apparently, Amanda bought pumpkins today, but you’d have to fucking pay me to use those as birthday pumpkins after this dumb bullshit. “Birthday pumpkin” is fucking done forever as far as I’m concerned. It was already sorta embarrassing and this was the fucking nail in the coffin of that tradition.

It’s dark now (9pm). I’m not gonna use (obviously). I’m just gonna fix the hot water and then get something to eat FOR THE FIRST TIME TODAY (as per usual). [I’m SO PROUD of my disordered eating].

This painting’s not about about going away for 5 weeks. Its title (LIKE ALL GOOD TITLES) is a suicide threat. I’m not even 5% of the way to that BUT I STILL ENJOY THE SENTIMENT. And I finished painting it 8 weeks before this all happened, but it’s felt like it’s missing something — and that something is definitely some petty/diaper-baby text. So I’m gonna hit it with a pen and work most of this in there. “BIRTHDAY PUMPKIN IS FUCKING DONE FOREVER” strikes me as especially funny. [I’m such a substantive, serious person!]

BEING DEAD so EVERYONE CAN FEEL BAD ABOUT THE HORRIBLE INJUSTICES THEY INFLICTED UPON ME is a nice fantasy. Emphasis on “fantasy.” No one gives a shit and I’m a fucking crybaby. Good thing I was INSIGHTFUL enough 8 weeks ago to NAIL IT with the (“and Other Lies”) subtitle.

Speaking of which, the other text on the book’s cover is: The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah.”

I came up with the title and subtitle one day as I was driving around, listening to punk rock, and smiling my dumb little shit-eating grin. But the part just below that (“the exciting new bestseller…”), I came up with all that on the spot, as I was painting. It’s my FAVORITE PART. “Wah Wah Wah” certainly seems to capture the sentiment of everything you just read.

I am a (now) forty year old fucking child.

A few notes as I write this two weeks later:

  • As I mention in the statement, this painting was “finished” by August 30th and what you just read wasn’t written until November 4th. But the painting and the text seemed to belong together so – now they’re together. I wrote all that text onto the canvas on November 7th.
  • When Juliana and I broke up, Brandon and Amanda took me in. I was still shooting up. Other friends warned them not to do it. Or to undo it as I continued shooting up but assuring them that I was titrating down. They ignored everyone else and took a chance on me. A month or so later, I was clean and I’ve been clean since.
  • In those early days, it was Amanda who helped me sort out the legal mess I’d been ignoring for eight years. She helped me get my driver’s license back and resolve my outstanding warrants.
    And it was Brandon who pushed me to start making art again. I was resistant. I was scared. What if I “didn’t have it” anymore? What if the world didn’t give a shit anymore? He got me through all that.
  • All of this is to say that I don’t know what my life looks like today without Brandon and Amanda. They were there for me in a way that no one else was. They let me go at my own pace. FOR THE MOST PART…
  • We agreed on a deadline. When I woke up on April 8 (2024) – no more shooting up.
  • Naturally, on the night of Sunday, April 7, I decided to take another stab at a fatal overdose. But I didn’t die and they still didn’t give up on me. And – sure enough – April 8, 2024 is my “clean date” now. And this is the longest clean streak of my life.
  • This blog entry is scheduled to auto-publish on November 25th, but today is the 18th, so it’s been two weeks since all that embarrassingly stupid pumpkin shit, and I’ve still not spoken to either of them. It occurs to me that this probably warrants some action on my part. But I don’t think I’m gonna reach out. I am, however, gonna pull THAT FUCKING CANVAS OUT AGAIN and add a bunch of this text. (It’ll be there in there by the time you see this). ’Cause the painting deserves it and they deserve it. It shouldn’t just be the dumb, petty shit.
  • Changing a painting TWICE after I’ve already paid to have it professionally photographed, that’s not normal for me. With very few exceptions, once one of my paintings is “done,” its FUCKING LOCKED. But this one won’t let that happen apparently. It doesn’t want to be finished yet. Hopefully the same is true of my friendships.
  • It’s embarrassing but putting this in my art and putting it out into the world – that’s maybe as close as I can muster to reaching out. Acknowledging that is even more embarrassing. Contemplating whether it will trigger a response, well that would be too much even for me. SO I’M DEFINITELY NOT DOING THAT.

POOR FOREVER

November 20, 2025

Poor Forever | 10/12/25 | acrylic on canvas | 36×36″

“Do you wanna be POOR FOREVER?” is what I ask my friends when they spend money frivolously. It’s also the question that rings out in my head whenever I’m considering spending money on ANYTHING.

My attitudes about money come from my dad, his dad, and my mom. There were the ways they talked about money and the ways I saw them use it.

My dad was POOR FOREVER. Or at least he acted like he was. Based on my inheritance [his clothing] I’m gonna assume that he probably was. He certainly never spent money on me or my siblings. And if any of us were to ever ask for something, it was QUITE THE ORDEAL. Because, as he told it, he just didn’t have it! If it was important enough, maybe he could ask my grandpa. 

But he also had some curiously expensive shit. And he traveled a lot. Maybe that was all paid for by his second wife. I don’t know.

My mom had FAMILY MONEY. She was very good at spending it. So far as I know, that’s why she no longer has any family money.

In any case, I don’t have a safety net. Not that I’m aware of anyway. 

My grandpa died recently. He worked his whole life and made a good living but still kinda behaved as if he were afraid of being poor forever. That’s how I’m trying to be.1 That’s how you accrue SAVINGS. And “savings” give you safety.

My grandpa wrote a bunch of different wills over the course of the last twenty years but I don’t know the details of his estate and I kinda feel like it’s none of my business anyway. Even if he didn’t provide for me directly, I’m pretty sure he provided for my dad and (SEEING AS MY DAD’S DEAD) maybe some of that’s supposed to trickle to me? Who the fuck knows. It all feels weird and fucked up and I don’t know anything about that kinda shit so I just focus on trying to take care of myself. 

Don’t get me wrong – I WOULD LIKE SOME MONEY. (PLEASE GIVE ME ALL THE MONEY). Not to spend – just to have. Because I kinda live in a perpetual, low-level state of financial anxiety. It would be super nice to know that I’m not gonna die in poverty.

(Isn’t this all SUPER UNIQUE AND INTERESTING? I’m definitely the only person who has these thoughts or fears, right? I journaled some shit along these lines into the painting only to realize  — and say as much, with arrows pointing out at my mundane concerns: “I’m PRETTY BORING”).

None of this is to say though that I’m even in poverty now. As I wrote into the top left of this painting: “I realized today that I have more money than I’ve ever had.” And since then, that number tends to tick down for a few days, before it shoots up to a new most-money-I’ve-ever-had number. We’re not talking numbers that are gonna blow anyone’s mind, but I could make a down payment on a house. Y’know – if any bank would ever give me a mortgage. (Which they wouldn’t).

My concern is that my overhead is very low. If I were living A NORMAL LIFE, I would not be able to tuck this much away. 

And if I can be a FUCKING FAGGOT for a second, I think I still wanna have a FOREVER PARTNER and a kid. And those things require money and stability.

[Please excuse my use of the word “faggot” but — as we all know — there’s nothing gayer than falling in love with a girl. And as someone who’s been called a faggot more times than I can count,  I think I should get to use the word just once (in GOOD HUMOR) seein’ as I made it to my 257th piece of art without ever having used it before]. 

[That said, if you’re gay and my joke bums you out, let me know. ‘Cause I don’t actually think amusing myself is more important than your feelings. And your telling me about it would be HOW I LEARN].

[It’s embarrassing how embarrassed I am to say I want to fall in love and HAVE A LITTLE FAMILY. That I have to resort to using that word for “balance.” Please, somebody shoot me].

Now, if it’s not too late to get back on track…

Just kidding. We just did a triple tangent on the word “faggot.” THERE’S NO GETTING BACK ON TRACK.

There are other journals scattered about the painting. I allude to officiating my grandpa’s funeral in place of a rabbi (despite my not having grown up Jewish (or anything)). I refer to the statement I wrote  on my blog (AND ON INSTAGRAM) right when he died. (It’s good – you should read it). I joke about making excuses for not becoming the MOST SUCCESSFUL ARTIST TO EVER LIVE.

But you get the gist. Money isn’t important but a sense of security is. We all wanna feel safe. We all wanna be able to take care of the people we love (EVEN IF THEY DON’T EXIST YET (and possibly never will)).

Some people think my art is HILARIOUS (and THEY’RE RIGHT) but a lot of them don’t look closely enough to see that’s not all that it is. I’m trying to be taken more seriously as an artist (for the $ame reason$ that thi$ piece i$ all about) but, at the risk of undercutting that, I’ll just say that this painting (like much of my art) is an attempt to find humor in the shit that freaks me the fuck out.

If that’s not the language of a SERIOUS ARTIST, then I’m a hopeless idiot. (And that can’t POSSIBLY be true — right??)

  1. I’m already pretty good at the second part. During my last (very extended relapse) I got an ALLOWANCE from my little sister of $115 a week. That wasn’t enough to cover my drug habit but – by the time I got clean – I’d still somehow managed to save up $6k in my Venmo account. Don’t ask me how. I am the GOLD MEDALIST in the DRUG ADDICT OLYMPICS. ↩︎

All of This is Just to Get Girls to Like Me

November 18, 2025

The DEATH OF SAMMY THRASHLIFE – but first: my newest painting and its story.

All of This is Just to Get Girls to Like Me | 10/23/25 | acrylic on canvas | 24×36″

“Come inside with me,” Jon said. “I wanna show off how punk you are.”

Ooooo – that made me feel PRETTY COOL. I was fourteen years old and this older kid who played guitar and sang in a punk band thought I was SUPER PUNK.

We went inside THE KFC where he worked and he got his paycheck. When we got back in the car, he explained to me, “Yeah, I don’t really dress punk anymore. There’s no one in this town to be punk for. It’s definitely not gonna get you any girls. It’s still fucking cool though.”

I think the knee-jerk judgmental reaction is that Jon was wrong. That you should be yourself no matter what.1

But Jon was also just a kid navigating adolescence and figuring shit out (even if, to me, he couldn’t have been more of an ELDER STATESMAN; I mean, come on, he was in ELEVENTH GRADE).

(It’s also worth noting that we’re talking about clothing. An expression of identity but not identity itself. It’s not FUNDAMENTALLY IMPORTANT).

I respected him and thought about what he’d said. (OBVIOUSLY IT STUCK WITH ME ‘cause I’m writing about it 25 years later). But I didn’t tone my shit down any. I STILL HAVEN’T. (For better or worse).

The wrong reading of “All of This is Just to Get Girls to Like Me” is that I’m doing anything for that purpose. I’m not. What I am doing is being myself in the loudest manner possible. And I am hoping that these paintings, my writing, my BEHAVIOR, and my style will act as a BEACON to the girls that are already predisposed to finding them attractive. My hope is that all of these things provide a SHORTCUT to girls seeing who I am and what I’m about. 

I gotta say: it sure felt like it was a more effective tactic when I was doing this 10 to 12 years ago. My whole SCHTICK is not as attractive at 39 as it was at 28. But that’s okay. I’m a victim of ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT. That’s what addiction does to you. I’m also a victim of PUNK ROCK and its attendant Peter Pan Syndrome. I likely always will be.

Which is ALSO OKAY. As much as I sometimes get down on myself, I fucking like me. I THINK I’M SUPER COOL (and definitely still REALLY, REALLY PUNK).

When the time is right, the right girl will come along, see, and appreciate that too. ‘Cause I’m not super interested in girlS anymore. I want THE girl. (Even if I don’t know who she is yet).

Speaking of which, the text that’s actually in the painting reads:

ALL OF THIS IS JUST TO GET GIRLS TO LIKE ME
(More precisely, a girl. The right girl).

Do you THINK I’M SPECIAL YET? Do you wanna be my girlfriend now?

(Can’t you tell how thoughtful I am?
Don’t you hear THE MOUNTAIN GOATS SONG I’ve got playing?)

And then, written on the side of the canvas:

So I decided to cannibalize my own idea. One of my next paintings was gonna be called: “Girls Don’t Like Boys, Girls Like Weed and Target.” But let’s be real – that’s ‘cause it would SELL. There’s no EMOTIONAL TRUTH in that. So, instead, I made it part of this painting by filling space with Target logos and pot leaves. And now I can joke that it’s SUBLIMINAL MESSAGING.”

I advertise the borderline personality disorder diagnosis all the time, but I also suffer from a really serious disorder that CAUSES ME TO THINK I’M FUNNY. With god’s help, maybe one day they’ll find the cure.

  1. I don’t think it’s fair to direct this at Jon, but a PARTICULAR SONG comes to mind. ↩︎

It’s been 19 months since I got clean and almost a year since I crept out from the shadows and rejoined the world. Everything’s gone really well for me in that time. But I’m older than I was in ROUND ONE of my art career and Sammy thrashLife feels even sillier to me now than when I first jokingly coined it. So I’m in the process of “rebranding” with my real name.

The new logo, which only took two hours to make. (Not impressed?? Are you suggesting it shouldn’t take me that long to write my own name??)

I think I fell into a trap where I thought everything about me needed to pull focus. That I needed every element of my presentation to cast out a line to hook someone. “I have borderline personality disorder. I used to manage with heroin. Now I make art instead.” That’s all true but maybe I don’t need to LEAD with the backstory. Maybe I should let my art speak for itself. (IT CERTAINLY HAS PLENTY TO SAY). And then if people are interested, they can discover the rest.

So I’ve launched samnorth.art (and samnorthart.com, for anyone whose brain just CAN’T HANDLE a dot-art url) and will be building those out soon. And I’m gonna phase out “Sammy thrashLife” on all my banners, fliers, social media, etc.

The new site may not have a blog or a webstore. It’ll still have the statements for each painting and drawing but they’ll likely be a little more tucked away, rather than the focus. If I’m being HONEST, all of these changes are aimed at the way I’m perceived by high end galleries and collectors. I’ve got no interest in changing my artwork, changing my personality, or changing my BEHAVIOR, but if some minor adjustments to my presentation help to get me taken more seriously: COOL.

If that at all concerns you, please know that I wrote the statement for another painting last night, it directly addressed my desire to be “taken more seriously,” and yet I STILL COULDN’T HELP MYSELF from making it as raw, as fucking ridiculous, and as embarrassing as anything I’ve ever made. So much so that I’m nervous to share it. So if you’re a fan of all this, exactly as it is – don’t fret; Sam North is very much the exact same artist and writer as Sammy thrashLife.

birthday, BIG CHANGES, and the TOP TEN of 2025

November 4, 2025

I’ve got a bunch of new art that’s just about ready to be shared but, in the meantime, I was doing inventory stuff and thought it’d be fun to share my best-selling prints of 2025 (so far) and talk a little bit about (SOME OF) them and what they mean to me now.

After the list, I get into my PLANS FOR THE FUTURE (and realize that it’s the day before my birthday). [I wrote this yesterday, so now it IS MY BIRTHDAY. I celebrated this morning by waking up at 6am to do a TUESDAY MORNING market. And now I’m sitting on my bus REVISING THIS BLOG ENTRY. Exciting shit, right? And I didn’t even mention the appointment at the optometrist!]

#10: This is All a Misunderstanding | 2012

This was one of my very first drawings, just a couple months after I’d started making art, as part of my treatment, while living in an inpatient facility. It was never super popular back in ROUND ONE (before the relapse), so it’s been kinda curious how well it does lately.

Read the story behind the drawing | Buy the print

#9: What Makes Life Feel Worth Living | 2024

This was only my second painting after getting clean last year. I decided to limit the number of prints to 50 instead of my usual 100 because I didn’t think it would sell well. That probably has more to do with how FRAGILE I was at the time than anything else.

Read the story behind the painting | Buy the print

#8: I’m a Fucking Artist, Guys | 2012

warhol parody campbell's soup

Aside from the significance I discuss in its written statement, I’d say that this piece continues to be meaningful to me insofar as it represents one of the most important aspects of my art: my willingness in spite of my limitations. That very much comes from punk rock. “No talent – so what?” Great art has nothing to do with technical ability and everything to do with feeling.

Which isn’t to say that I don’t think I’m talented. I’m proud of the way I use color, my composition, and the things I write on and into each painting (or drawing). ‘Cause [let’s be honest] my shit looks cool but it’s the words that really give it meaning and account for its popularity. Which is totally fine by me. All I wanted as a kid was to sing in a punk band. That didn’t really pan out for me long term but these paintings and drawings are just the songs to which I write my lyrics. AND IN THIS MEDIUM I DON’T HAVE TO RHYME. Or collaborate with anyone else. It’s a much better fit.

Read the story behind the drawing | Buy the print

#7: Christian Love (The Grace of a Mountain Goat) | 2024

Apparently Proverbs 5:19 says: “Like a loving doe and a graceful mountain goat, Let her breasts satisfy you at all times; Be exhilarated always with her love.” So… Christianity is fucking weird, you guys. Then again, I sure could go for a nice girl with ]THE GRACE OF A MOUNTAIN GOAT and, like, really cool tits. Anyone know how I’d go about getting baptized?

When I made this last year, I was a little scared to even put it online. I was thoroughly amused by what I’d made but I wondered if it was gonna be TOO MUCH for the rest of the world. “Are people just going to think I’m a weird, off-putting creep if I share this?” I wondered.

APPARENTLY NOT. I’ve had days where I sell these things back-to-back. Someone buys one and then the very next person to walk up buys another. That might not sound all that crazy but considering I’ve got something like 200 prints to choose from, it sorta is.

Read the story behind the drawing | Buy the print

#6: Stay Punk | 2025

This painting was based on an older drawing of mine that never got its due. It’s not exactly my usual expressive art but (despite being, arguably, more of a joke/one-liner than anything else) it is still meaningful to me. Punk rock is kinda the most important thing in the world and that’s NOT A JOKE. Aside from my paintings and the first decade or so of Simpsons episodes, it’s pretty much the only valid art form. (Okay – that part’s sort of a joke).

Read the story behind the painting | Buy the print

Shoot me a message if you’re interested in buying the original 24×24″ painting. It’s the first one on this list that’s not already sold.

#5: Yo – I Painted a Fuckin’ Unicorn | 2014

Before the (EIGHT AND A HALF YEAR) relapse, this was maybe my very bestselling print. Which (honestly) always made me a little sad. I’m grateful that anyone likes anything I’ve created but – y’know – it’s not exactly my MOST MEANINGFUL piece. But it makes people smile, it makes them laugh, that was the point, and that’s a pretty wonderful thing.

Read the story behind the painting | Buy the print

This painting sold years ago but has since come back into my possession. Hit me up if you’d like to buy the original [now in a BEAUTIFUL FLOATING FRAME].

#4: The World Can be Cold and Mean but I’m Gonna Try to Do My Best Anyway | 2014

One of the purely earnest pieces I’ve made. And probably the closest thing to a thesis for all of my work. ‘Cause this is what it all ultimately comes down to. Doesn’t matter what you’re up against. You still gotta fight.

There’s a painting that I made during one of the brief respites in my relapse that I just finally wrote the statement for last week. I haven’t put it online yet (and may not ever (which would be a first)) because it gets deep in the guts of the most traumatic thing I ever experienced. It’s deeply reflective in a way that’s extreme even for me, and I’m afraid of how some people might wanna take parts out of context and use it against me. But (all that aside) its message seems relevant here: There are some things you can’t come back from, but you won’t know until you die after a lifetime of trying. THIS IS ME TRYING.

Read the story behind the painting | Buy the print

#3: Fucking Miracles | 2012

The very first thing I made that wasn’t an assignment in my inpatient art therapy group. Also, one of the only things I’ve made that “stole” the text from elsewhere. This was before I even thought of myself as any kind of an artist and was a birthday gift for a girl I was (or had been?) dating; all of the words are just cribbed from songs that we listened to together. Once finished, I mailed it from my facility in Florida to her facility in Minnesota.

Read the story behind the piece | Buy the print

#2: Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again) | 2025

The sequel to something I drew back when I had a brighter outlook. I knew it’d sell well because people love that title. And – yes, I did very intentionally make the parenthetical much smaller. I figured, this way, someone can enjoy it for its optimism or look closer and appreciate its honesty.

It’s the only thing I’ve painted since getting clean again that directly addresses my (aforementioned) trauma. I’m always a little scared when someone buys one of these before reading everything I wrote into it. Through my art and writing, I think I present a fully transparent portrait of who I am as a person but you never know when some new piece of information might cause someone to call that into question.

Read the story behind the painting | Buy the print

#1: Mental Heath Services Available to Strippers, Junkies, Cutters, and Other SICK GIRLS | 2017

Maybe it’s because I’ve chosen it to be the piece I feature most prominently anytime I set-up anywhere or maybe it’s just that it’s THAT GOOD, but this painting (created during the first brief pause in my relapse) has overtaken all others and become my very bestseller.

I’m more than okay with that. While the title is absolutely a joke of sorts, it’s a joke that gets at some of the more profound insight I’ve expressed through my art. Sometimes people say things when buying it that make me wonder if they even get the joke or the actual message but – hey – art is subjective. People can like something for whatever they see in it and it can mean to them whatever they want it to.

I’ve never been super happy with the statement I wrote up for it (as it was written two years after-the-fact, during the other/second brief pause in my extended relapse). I might re-write it one day but, in any case, I’m very proud of the painting itself and all of the text that actually appears on the canvas.

I knew I loved this piece as soon as I made it but didn’t know if it’d resonate with anyone else. I’ve been very happy to discover that it does. I haven’t even sold the original [hit me up if you’d like to change that] and yet it’s still made me more money than nearly anything else I’ve created. (If that sounds crass, I only mention it because it’s a testament to how successfully the piece has connected with people).

Read the story behind the painting | Buy the print

NEWS

If you’re not already following me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook – GET ON THAT. I post updates (and previews of my new work) way more often than I do here.

In any case, “You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone,” “POOR FOREVER,” and “All of This is Just to Get Girls to Like Me” will all be up on the website soon and I couldn’t be more excited to share them with you.

Following the death of my grandpa (and the subsequent relocation of my grandma to New York), I no longer feel an obligation to stick close to Sarasota. I’d always said the moment they left Florida, so would I. While I’ve already started to take my show on the road in Georgia and the Carolinas, what I’m really interested in is merging what I’ve done this last year with how I used to do things (before the relapse). How that used to work was:

  • I’d travel to a new city to find a gallery that wanted to book me for a future exhibition or otherwise feature my work
  • I’d return to that city once the exhibition was actually running, spending my time promoting and selling prints with guerilla sidewalk set-ups
  • And in-between, I’d hit new cities to find new galleries and just repeat that cycle

That’s basically how I wanna do it now too, except I’d also like to book art fairs/festivals and other markets [in whichever city I’m in] to sell at those as well. Basically, in Round One, I thought galleries were the end all be all. Or (more critically) I felt that any avenue for selling art that required me to pay them was illegitimate. And while I’ve still got a healthy suspicion of any pay-to-play operations, I now realize that art fairs and markets are a totally valid means of making a living as an artist. Do I still wanna be up in galleries? 100%. But I’ve done some pretty great events in this last year and am more than happy to do lots more. If anyone’s got any tips for galleries, events, or anything else, you’re definitely invited to drop me a line.

All that said and my eagerness-to-leave aside, I’ve gradually accepted that Florida is the place to be in early December and – with all the connections I’ve developed in the last year – probably through the end of March. So while I’ve got three weeks booked in South Carolina this month and will likely book at least a little more out-of-state in the winter and spring, I’ll probably continue to use Sarasota as a base for the next few months (before I finally go out on the road full-time – one city to the next, without returning to any kind of a “home” in-between). Having done so much here in the last year, I’ve built a pretty solid foundation. My ambition is still much bigger than this area but I think it’d be foolish to not take advantage of the work I’ve already done and to venture into the unknown before it makes sense.

It’d also be easy to fall into that (trap) forever though, so I’m currently thinking I’ll really strike out in April. Where that will be, I don’t really know. It’d be incredible if I stumbled into some gallery opportunities before then and can set my destination in advance, but I imagine I’ll have to create those opportunities for myself, in-person, by actually traveling to new cities. Of course if anyone has any connections or recommendations, I’m all for it. I’M NOT ABOVE SHORTCUTS.

In closing, I’ll just say that (without SPOILING too much of what’s gonna be my next painting), it occurred to me recently that I’m pretty happy. I don’t think I’ve ever gone so long without falling (even if only brieflly) into deep despair, depression, or anxiety. It’d be easy to say that’s because we’re now on a RECORD-SHATTERING STREAK for time without a needle in my arm, but I think it’s a lot bigger than that.

(The old record, by the way, was 17 months and we’re coming up on 19 at the moment. That’s the longest I’ve had since I first started shooting up as a child (/teenager). And [oh. shit. I just checked the date and] my 40th birthday is TOMORROW [it’s today; i should’ve posted this when I wrote it YESTERDAY]. So… y’know – we’re talking a span of more than 20 years).

If you’ve read this far, you’ve given me enough of your time already, so I’ll save my musing on why I feel so different for that next painting.

Thanks for reading. It really does mean a lot.

If you’d like to buy any of those prints featured (or any others), use the promo code I-READ-THE-WHOLE-BLOG-ENTRY for 25% off your webstore order.

If you’d like to buy one of my originals, send a message.

To catch me in-person, check out my events calendar. (Off the top of my head, I’ve got stuff coming up in Florida (Sarasota, Tampa, Punta Gorda, Sanford, Bradenton, and Miami) and South Carolina (Spartanburg, Charleston, and Greenville).

UNTIL NEXT TIME…

My grandpa died today

September 17, 2025

I share a LOT of my life through my art and through social media (which – whether art-related or not) I consider to be for the purposes of promoting my art. There’s one part of my life that I rarely, if ever, touch upon and it’s a pretty big part of my life. It’s the reason I’m still in Sarasota.

My grandparents moved to Sarasota to be closer to their eldest child, my dad. And then, shortly thereafter, my dad suddenly died. That left me as their only relative in the area. I’d never been particularly close with my grandparents (I’ve not even been particularly close with my parents) but when my dad died, I decided that I should try to be closer with my grandparents. So I started seeing them every week. Then twice a week. And – in times when something was wrong – everyday. 

Maybe I haven’t shared that because it conflicts with the ORPHAN IMAGE / ABANDONED BY WOLVES narrative that I’ve clung to my whole life. Maybe it just felt uncomfortable to include them in my story and my work when they aren’t of an age where they’d even be aware of it or know how to feel about/comprehend it, even if I tried to explain it to them. To this day, I’m still not sure they really understand my life. 

You guys remember when I made a series of vague posts about being overwhelmed and “the world beating the shit out of me” last month? (The first video was the one where I noted that a HAMMER had even hit me in the head?) Well those were really about shit going in with my grandparents. I had to continually postpone my outta state trip, cutting down 5 weeks to just 17 days by the time I actually left – at which point things seemed mostly okay.

When I got back last week, things were less okay. And today, my grandpa died. I was prepared for it. I knew it was coming. But not now. Not today. I thought he still had a couple weeks in him. And, honestly, I thought he’d likely hang on even past that – past the point when it made any sense. That did not happen.

I think I’m dealing with it pretty well. Not well enough to make a video without crying but – Y’KNOW – I’m not in PERPETUAL anguish. I am only INTERMITTENTLY crying.

I wanna say a few things about my grandpa in recognition and appreciation of the life he lived.

He spent his life as a criminal defense attorney and he FUCKING LOVED IT. His idea of fun was to go sit in courtrooms and just watch the mundane/daily courtroom shit that happened.

I didn’t go to law school to make him proud. I didn’t give my family a single thought when I made that decision. But he WAS proud. And when I graduated by the skin of my teeth, strung out on heroin – taking my exams at the absolute last minute long after everyone else (thanks to special arrangements made by the school registrar who was sympathetic to my addiction) I didn’t find out I’d passed my exams until about 36 hours before the ceremony. He was on a plane as soon as he found out. I didn’t walk high school or college graduations but I did that one for him.

I don’t remember if he even knew yet that I was a drug addict. My dad might have given him some other reason why we didn’t know about my grades or whether I’d be graduating until the last minute. But he knew by the end of that same year. And he paid to put me in one of the best inpatient dual diagnosis/rehab facilities in the country. 

The painting I’m working on right now is called POOR FOREVER. And it’s not about being poor forever, it’s about the attitude I have about money and how frugal I am because I don’t want to be POOR FOREVER. I don’t often spend money lightly. That comes from him by way of my dad. My dad kinda was poor forever. But my grandpa made a good living but still chose to live as if he didn’t. But when it came to getting treatment for his shitty drug addict grandson who hardly ever called, that all went out the window. He SPENT THE MONEY.

And then five weeks later I got kicked out of treatment. And two days later, he paid ANOTHER (expensive) facility to take me. And then five weeks later, that one kicked me out too. And then I ran the streets for a few months, being a drug-addled, dishonest fuck up until I broke down crying, on a bench, on the side of the road, in the rain. And then he paid a THIRD rehab to take me. 

Seven weeks later, can you guess what happened? I GOT KICKED OUT. But this time, something in me was a little different. And I worked to convince them to take me back. And when they agreed to it two weeks later, my grandpa dropped thousands of dollars AGAIN to get me readmitted. He spent thousands of dollars to get me checked in FOR THE FOURTH TIME. I stayed for 8 months. And while I can’t say that I’ve stayed clean ever since, it was what I learned in that last stint of treatment that’s the reason for the clean time that I got upon leaving and any/all of the clean stints I’ve had since, including these last 17 months.

As WE ALL KNOW – I am IMPERVIOUS TO DEATH/CANNOT BE KILLED, but (dropping my shtick for a minute) it’s super unlikely that I’d still be breathing if not for him.

These last few years, his Parkinson’s has fucked up his brain and dementia has taken over. A lot of my time with him has not been of a super high quality. I didn’t really get to know him and he didn’t really get to know me as much as I’d have liked. But – if nothing else – I know he appreciated the way I’ve shown up for him and my grandma (to whom he was married for SEVENTY FIVE YEARS). And I know he loved me.

One last thing about my grandpa. It’s a story I only heard recently. One year, he had a client who was sitting in jail simply because he couldn’t afford the bail. It wasn’t a major crime or an expensive bail but it was still more than this guy could swing. This was right before Christmas and – though my grandpa was Jewish – that still didn’t sit right with him. It’s illegal for lawyers to pay for their clients’ bail (for a number of reasons I won’t get into) so there was nothing he could do about it himself. So he went into every synagogue in the area and told them, “Hey – please post bail for this guy and I will make a donation to your synagogue for the amount of the bail and then some. And then when he shows up to his court date, you’ll even get that money back.” None of the synagogues would do it. So he went around to all of the churches in the area until he finally found one that took him up on his offer. All so this random low-paying (possibly never-paying) client wouldn’t be locked up over the holidays. That’s the kind of person he was.

The world is worse off for having lost him, but it’s much better for having him. The positive impact he had will carry on in more ways than I will ever even know. He was 96 years old.

Herbert North (1929-2025)

Stay Punk

August 19, 2025

“Stay Punk” 6/14/25. Acrylic. 24×24″.

 

the first incarnation of this idea

This 2025 painting is from an old joke that started on a dry-erase board. Then I drew it up as a t-shirt for the band, Turkish Techno. They never used it because, apparently, one of the members thought it was too close to another shirt I’d recently designed for Rational Anthem. THEIR LOSS. This would’ve sold super well as a t-shirt at punk shows. In any event, since that never happened, I decided to redo it as a painting, thereby finally giving it its due.

2013 drawing/shirt design

Anyone who knows me, knows just how gigantic punk’s presence is in my life. It’s probably more important to me than art. It’s probably more important to me than anything. I’ve been a fan since I was eight years old and I’ve never had much interest in any other type of music. It just resonates with me on a level that can hardly be described. I don’t have to be listening to it all the time but I certainly don’t like to be out in public or in social situations without it. It’s my EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BLANKET. If I’m going out with friends, I like to have a little speaker clipped to my belt loop or (at the very least) one earbud in, so that I can be present but still have the music as well. And when it comes to all those events I do, whether or not I can listen to my music is literally the difference between whether I’m going to have a good time or not. When I’m painting and selling at an event where the organizers have their own music playing so loudly that I can’t hear my own in my tent, it’s real easy for me to very quickly fall into a pretty lousy mood.

the Rational Anthem shirt that was “too similar” (also 2013)

I had an experience like that recently. Some boomer cover band was playing Eagles songs outta full stacks all night and I couldn’t have been more miserable. But when I thought “fuck it,” strapped my little speaker to the crossbar of my tent (the one right next to my ear), it transformed my night. I stood up on my barstools, painting the canvas hanging from the roof of my tent, and sang along as loud as I could, looking nuts, but totally inaudible because of how loud that boring band was. And I had a blast and felt great.

And that’s kinda what punk rock means to me (in the most basic sense). Not caring about what else is going on or what other people think and just doing what works for you. There’s more to it of course but that’s the crux.

Forgetting conceptuality for a moment, just in regard to the songs, the punk rock that I love is pretty specific. Sonically, it’s usually kinda grimy, kinda gruff, scrappy, fast, catchy, and upbeat. Lyrically, it’s misery with a smile. “Three to the Beach” by Dear Landlord maybe nails it best. The lyrics of that song convey that the world is fucked, life is fucked, but whatever – we’re gonna do what we can to get by all the same. (Dear Landlord’s Dream Homes is probably the best album ever made, by the way. Go listen to it). If I can excerpt the second verse and chorus of that song…

We’re both sort of right; I don’t have much to show
I’ll die penniless, alone
I’ll do what I like and you’ll do what you know
Never hungry, broke, or cold; that’s the weight of things I suppose
It’s really just the passing of these days that’s gonna leave us all set in our ways
We don’t have to take that lying down
And I’d be lying if I didn’t say, it’s been getting harder to relate
To keep myself from drowning in the crowd
But I still believe that: 
We’re not that hopeless, we’re not as fucked as you think
In short lived moments, we can do anything
The fucking joke is we’re winning when you blink
In short lived moments: lousy with victory

Dear Landlord was the band formed by Zack (singer, guitarist, songwriter) and Brad (drummer, lyricist) of Rivethead when that band broke up. You can read more about Rivethead in my statement for “Stand Up and Say No.” I haven’t read it myself in years, but I imagine it’s a solid companion statement to this one.

Speaking of Zack, he once told me that when he was in the studio, recording with Off With Their Heads (for whom he played guitar for a while), their producer Bill Stevenson (of Descendants and Black Flag) prodded them with the description of their music as “Disney punk with ‘I wanna kill myself’ lyrics.” “Disney punk” isn’t quite accurate since that’d probably be something shinier, glossier, and less rough around the edges (like blink-182) but he got the gist. The punk rock I love is musically happy and lyrically dark. (Although – like in the referenced Dear Landlord song – the lyrics can also be kinda hopeful and, other times, (especially in the songs of another band I absolutely adore, The Brokedowns) darkly funny. I mention this because people ask me about my artistic influences all the time. And none of them are visual artists. It’s all punk rock. And it happened without my even realizing it initially. But my style of painting is very much the visual equivalent of my kinda punk rock. It’s full of bright colors and funny faces – but with grim, funny, depressed, and hopeful text. And that alone makes me very happy: not only how naturally I found and developed my artistic style/voice, but how much it’s very clearly influenced by (and reminiscent of) what I love most in the world.

One last thing. The national/US punk scene was itself a huge part of my life (as a fan, an occasional musician/performer, through Traffic Street Records, and then through tagging along/touring with bands to sell art at punk shows). Since 2015 though, I’m not really comfortable in that world anymore. That falling out had a huge part in the relapse that took me away from art for so many years. All I’ll say about that for now is that the scene is made of people. And people will (often) disappoint. People will let you down. But punk rock never will. No one controls it, no one owns it, and it keeps going no matter what. There’s been as much or more great new punk rock in the last year as any other. And even the songs made by the same people who broke my little punk rock heart – it doesn’t matter. The music exists on its own. 

It’s kinda perfect. It’s kinda the best fucking thing in the world.

And as for staying punk – I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

Here are four outstanding songs by the bands I mentioned in this statement:

The original 2×2-foot “Stay Punk” painting is still available for purchase at the time of this writing.
Contact me if you’d like to change that. I also have 12-inch prints available in the webstore.

[update (Feb 2026): the original painting sold but I’m now offering canvas giclées on 1.5″ bars. They come in DIFFERENT COLORS. Shoot me a message for availability and pricing]

As always, thanks for reading. If you want more, check out the blog entry for the 2013 drawing.

The Whole Wide World Can Suck My Dick (but, like, in a Fun Way)

July 3, 2025

“The Whole Wide World Can Suck My Dick (but, like, in a Fun Way)” 4/27/25. acrylic on canvas. 30×24″.

This is the thought that pops into my head when EVERYTHING’S GOING MY WAY. “The whole wide world can SUCK MY DICK!” It’s joyful. It’s a celebration. It’s definitely not an angry thing. Hence my qualifier “but, like, in a fun way.” I’d fucking hate it if someone looked at this painting and thought it was some kind of angry, pouty harumph… “suck my dick!”-kinda thing. That shit’s NOT ME. It’s some dumb expression of dumb masculinity and I hate it. But this – the JOYFUL version. That makes me smile.

I wrote a bit about that on the canvas, along with:

“My stupid punk songs, singing along and moving around like no one can see or hear me, painting ILL SHIT like this, making lots of money OR NONE – I like my life. Losing money stings but when I’ve got everything I need, it’s just a number and I’ll get it back.”

The backstory on all of this is that when I started this painting, SHIT WAS GOING MY WAY. I made a LOT OF MONEY selling art in March. When I finished the painting before this one, it was already sold and I was in the middle of a particularly profitable day of selling prints. I felt energized and validated and LIFE WAS COOL. By the time I was wrapping this painting up, the TIDE HAD TURNED A BIT. I was at some three-day festival I’d signed up to be a vendor at, and it was NOT GOING WELL. It had nothing to do with me, it was just a shit event. No one made any money. It was just so badly organized and promoted. But sitting there in my tent that first day FOR THIRTEEN HOURS, I was working on this painting and kinda depressed. There was NO ONE AROUND. It was the first time I’d done an event and sold NOTHING. Not only that, I didn’t even get a single person stop to look at my art. And I couldn’t even listen to music because there was some DJ just BLARING the worst music in the world. Without punk rock, I struggle. But when I have it, it doesn’t really matter what else is going on; it has SUCH A HUGE impact on my mood.

So that was Day 1 of this particular shitshow. On Day 2, it was still a disaster of an event, but I set-up much, much further from the DJ and his speakers so that I was able to hear my own speaker and listen to the songs I LIKE TO LISTEN TO. And, consequently, I was having fun, painting, and not worrying anymore about the fact that these fucks got $200 out of me and I’d driven from outta town to attend this waste-of-my-time. After all, it didn’t matter how bad the weekend was; it’s just one weekend. I know my art’s got value, I know people wanna (and do) buy it. I know things are gonna work out for me if I keep making good choices.

And that’s pretty much what happened (pretty much immediately). I realized I didn’t owe these flakes anything, so I lined up a couple other opportunities for that night and the next day, and then I bailed when necessary to make it to that night’s Plan B. And it went great. I had fun, I made money, I met people I liked. ALL WAS RIGHT IN THE WORLD (a world that I was once again happy to invite to suck my dick).

I finished the painting the next day – at another event where I had fun all day, painting, listening to punk rock, and getting paid for it.

I’m not gonna pretend like my “job” is all fun and no work, but it’s pretty fucking great overall. I  mostly do whatever the fuck I want. Sometimes it almost does feel like the world is sucking my dick. It’s NOT ENTIRELY UNCOOL.

Statement is done. Tap here to read the personal updates that will soon embarrass me.

Oh wow – how funny is this? 👇 My website’s automatic recommendations for this blog post are all DICK-RELATED. Isn’t technology great?

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