The Luckiest Little Shit (in the World)

January 15, 2026

“The Luckiest Little Shit (in the World)” | 1/4/2026 | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 40 x 30 in

If there’s a central THESIS to my body of work, it’s that life can be a FUCKING DRAG but we’ve gotta try our best all the same.1 

It’s probably a consequence of the specific “world” I grew up in but I don’t really know too many people who are succeeding. A lot of my friends struggle. Some aren’t especially happy. 

I don’t envy my friends that put in 40 hours on shit they don’t particularly like, to make some dipshit (that’s dumber than they are) richer than they are. 

And then they pay rent. To a LANDLORD. Because he owns the properties. Inherited, or bought with money most of us will never have. 

The system is fucked. AND WE’RE (mostly) WHITE KIDS. (Or more recently/accurately, white “adults”). We’ve got SOME DEGREE OF PRIVILEGE.

Then again, like attracts like; my friends are like me. And being a working-class, too-smart-for-your-own-good basketcase isn’t exactly a recipe for UPWARD CLASS MOBILITY.

There’s this lyric: “the decks are stacked and the house always wins when the dealer’s crooked … but we’ve been counting cards. We’re fucking fed up; shit’s gone too far.”2

I love that line. The world’s gonna cheat us and we’ve still gotta play the hand we’re dealt, so fuck THEIR rules. We’ll play it our way, with every trick we’ve got.

I often describe my art career as “A PRETTY GOOD SCAM.” That’s honestly what it feels like.

I wake up every day and do whatever the fuck I want. I write about myself and paint funny faces in ridiculous colors – and then I get paid for it. I’m not rich, but I’m not poor either. In the last year, I’ve loaned or given money to friends and family that have fucking jobs.

This is, of course, not solely a consequence of my own brilliance. I work seven days a week to ensure my future as the world’s MOST HIGHLY REGARDED ARTIST, but it’s not lost on me that what I do is not an option for everyone. It’s such a bizarre confluence of circumstances, attributes, inclinations, luck (good and bad) that make my life possible.

When I started down this path, I had zero technical ability as an artist (AND I’VE NOT GAINED MUCH SINCE THEN). I’ve refined my eye for color and composition, but what I have most of all is a personality, a worldview, and the ability and willingness to articulate it (in a way that other people find funny, insightful, and resonant). That’s been the key ingredient in my success. I’m the only person in the world who can do exactly what I do.

But my broken brain, personality, worldview, and INABILITY TO EVER SHUT THE FUCK UP also led me to heroin. And heroin has eaten years of my life and taken me to horribly traumatic places that I’d tell you about IF I WANTED TO START CRYING RIGHT NOW.

Ultimately, heroin led me to expressive art therapy. Which I hated because I was bad at it. But I really liked the way the other mental cases responded when it’d be my turn in group to talk about what I’d made. They laughed when I wanted. They were affected when I wanted. And they fed me praise.

Returning to the world, I needed an income, but I’d never successfully held a job. I’m INSUBORDINATE.

Though I didn’t have the first clue if it was even possible, or how to go about it, I decided to see if anyone would buy my art. Turns out it was possible right outta the gate.

Three years later, I experienced the worst trauma of my life, fell the fuck apart, relapsed for 8 years, and resigned myself to failure and addiction forever. Until my girlfriend decided the future might look better with someone else. So I got clean (TO SHOW HER) and started painting again. I anxiously anticipated it blowing up in my face, but didn’t know what else to do. 

Wanna know the really fucked up part? A year and change later, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I wake up excited each day. I’m excited for the future.

Monday through Thursday is a lot of writing, inventory, accounting, logistics, booking, website and bus maintenance.

Friday through Sunday, I set-up a killer display of THE BEST FUCKING ART EVER MADE and I work on my latest painting while singing along to all my favorite punk rock, as strangers give me their money in exchange for the products of my mental illness, my personality, my traumas, and my victories. 

A lot of my life’s been pretty miserable. I’ve got some dark stories. I’ve lived through dark YEARS.

But “The Luckiest Little Shit in the World” is a victory product. It’s a victory lap on 2025, when I relaunched my art career, killed it, and had a fucking blast. It’s really not even fair how much fun I’m having and how much the world rewards me for it. I really do feel like the luckiest little shit in the world.

FOR NOW. Fear and anxiety are never far from my mind. These good feelings are fairly new and I’m still sorta broken – I’m still me – and thank fucking god for that.

It’s the key ingredient.

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

  1. There’s a lot here that calls to mind earlier work. The other paintings featured in this blog entry are the ones with statements I’ve hyperlinked in the body of the text. ↩︎
  2. The song I’m referencing is “Countin’ Cards” by Escape from the Zoo: ↩︎
  3. Nope – it’s in the statement for “All the Time Lost,” which I’ve not yet published online. ↩︎

Poetry by (2,025) Girls I’ve Brutally Fucked

January 13, 2026

“Poetry by (2,025) Girls I’ve Brutally Fucked” | 5/10/25* | acrylics on canvas | 12 x 24 in

I painted this as the front and back covers for a split 7-inch by Apocalypse Meow and Todd Congelliere. It was the first time I’d done a commissioned piece in my usual/expressive style instead of taking the more labored cartoon/illustration approach.

The caption (“I was talking to this girl I REALLY GAVE IT TO. She said she wrote a poem about it. A poem about my fucking. That made me smile.”) seemed a little much for a pop punk record so I replaced it with the band names on the actual record layout.

I hadn’t actually seen the poem yet when I made this, but I read it soon after.  Turns out it was only partially about “my fucking” and way more beautiful, affectionate, and insightful than I feel like I deserve. It’s really great and – in that way – makes me feel kind of shitty, even though I didn’t do anything wrong. We had sex, it was fun; we hung out, it was fun; and then we repeated that cycle a few times. I guess friendship and fucking don’t really go together without feelings developing.

I’ve been sleeping around lately, getting involved with different girls to different degrees; I’m probably asking for trouble. I’m probably about to fuck myself – one way or another. There’s a lot more I could write about all that but I don’t wanna push myself to be too honest / transparent right now. That feels okay.

There’s this other girl… I wrote (what I guess I’d call) a long prose poem about her and about my experience with her in the week after we met. I’d developed feelings of my own for her [how novel!] But I was conscious of the fact that – this sort of thing – it does happen fairly often with me. I wrote a little bit about that too:

I’ve got these fucking warm, fuzzy feelings for a lot of people. A lot of my friends – I love them, I hug them, all that. But when I have these feelings for girls [I’m attracted to] (it doesn’t matter how many) I love them and I also want to kiss them, sleep with them [etc.] I don’t think that’s wrong or weird but you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to have feelings for one person that are strong enough that you don’t even want to connect with another person in that way. That seems like bullshit.

I don’t know… maybe I’m just selfish. Love and sex are all twisted up and make for difficultly-navigable terrain. I just wanna love and fuck without being confused.

Everything from here forward was written in May 2025. Everything written above this is from 12 years ago, in the period when I was the most girl-crazy and the most promiscuous. I was meeting lots of girls that wanted to sleep with me and I think I was just really excited about that because that, in itself, was sorta new. It was the first time (since I’d been a teenager) that I wasn’t in a committed, monogamous relationship, and it was the first time ever that I’d had confidence that I wasn’t entirely faking.

A year or so after all that though, I relapsed and then (another year or so later) I tried to kill myself. Right before the attempt, I lit my biggest painting on fire and then slashed and smashed the others. There were seven in all and – when I was FEELING BETTER – I started the process of stitching them all up with dental floss. This one wasn’t super torn up but it was so badly smashed that it needed to be stretched across new bars. For that reason, it was the last one I got around to restoring. I just did it recently but also decided that the painting itself needed some work. Like the actual art wasn’t up to my standards anymore. Which makes sense because I made it more than a decade ago. So that’s what I did. You can see the original “finished” version of the painting here.

This painting is not the kinda thing I’d make today. That thought in the fourth paragraph (about “asking for trouble”) is ESPECIALLY PRESCIENT. ‘Cause that’s exactly what happened – and to a more traumatizing degree than I could have ever imagined. But even though the sentiment of this painting is the kinda thing that could SEND THE WRONG MESSAGE in 2025, I don’t wanna change those elements of it. I like being honest. I like telling the full story. I’d just turned 28 and I’d spent most of the years prior in a single committed relationship. So now I was in a phase of experimentation. And I was pretty excited about it. And while I’m embarrassed by just about everything in this painting’s statement, I don’t really think I should be. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with rough sex or liking rough sex or even just figuring out what kinds of sex you like. So long as you’ve got a consenting, enthusiastic partner, be adventurous. Go for it. Do whatever. Life’s too short to not find happiness and fulfillment wherever you can.

This has no business being on the internet but I’m neurotic and can’t stand the idea of leaving something out of my “portfolio.” I’m very much taking advantage of the fact that my mailing list was lost in the domain transfer and very few people will be notified that this is now online.

(I’m) So Smart (I Got Life Lessons Dripping Out My Butthole)

Inpatient facility. 2012. The assignment was to write a list of ten “core beliefs” – my absolute truths – through which I filter every experience. They were pretty dark. 

  • #1: I am ugly.
  • #2: I am a problem. 
  • #5: I am only tolerated.
  • #10: Nothing matters.

But there was one out of the ten that was positive.

  • #4: I am smart.
“So Smart” | 11/23/2025 | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 12 x 36 in

When I was a kid, I thought I was so smart that things would just sorta work out for me no matter what. I ignored all conventional advice. Took nothing seriously. 

As a teenager, I told my dad that I’d been shooting heroin for a year, (I think mostly) just to see how he’d respond. He kinda sighed and said, “Well, at least you’re not smoking crack. I hear that’s the drug that will hook you immediately and destroy your life.” 

So the next day, I smoked crack for the first time, just to prove my dad wrong. Everything everyone believed was wrong. I was smarter than everyone.

When I was first introduced to “expressive art therapy,” my response was something along the lines of: “I’m a suicidal basketcase, I can’t keep a needle out of my arm, and you want me to color? Go fuck yourself.”

But treatment pushes the idea that you’re “powerless over your addiction.” That you can’t solve the problem on your own. Eventually (VERY SLOWLY) I became more receptive to taking advice even when I thought it was stupid and pointless.

Art, it turned out, could keep a needle out of my arm. It went from being a frustrating chore to all I wanted to do. It gave me an outlet to express myself, validation, and (something that at least resembles) self-esteem. And eventually it gave me a path. It gave me tasks and goals – a fucking to-do list to keep me busy and off drugs, while also supporting me financially. It gave me freedom from addiction, from poverty, and from the kinds of jobs I’ve never wanted and could never do.

That kid who thought everything would work out for him on the basis of his SPARKLING WIT and KEEN INSIGHT – he was a fucking idiot. Things have not all worked out for me. I spent years living in hell.

But I don’t anymore. Shit is working out. And as hard and as often as I work, it could be argued that I’m kinda skating through life on personality. Even the work I don’t enjoy, it’s all in service of something I love.

With all the money and praise regularly FED to me by strangers, all the people who look to me for advice or tell me how brilliant some painting, writing, or element of my business model is, it’s easy sometimes to feel like I just might be SO SMART I GOT LIFE LESSONS DRIPPING OUT MY BUTTHOLE.

That said, all of this is built around something I’d initially rejected with total contempt. So it’s maybe not the worst idea for me to remind myself of the remote possibility that – despite my REMARKABLE LIFE EXPERIENCE and the TREMENDOUS WISDOM I regularly bestow – I maybe don’t know everything about everything.

MAYBE.

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

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” | 13 May 2026* | acrylic on canvas | 48×36″

It’s the morning of my birthday, I’m in a tiff with my friends, and – even though I’m generally having a good time right now – that conflict is adding a dark undercurrent to my feelings.

I just had a moment – and the feeling that I miss having a person. That one person who I can share everything with. I thought about how my last person just flew across the country to go into rehab again. And then I started thinking about nurturing sick relationships, which brought me a sinister kinda delight. And THEN it occurred to me that I could shoot up today and no one would ever know. And I doubt I will, but I still HAD THE THOUGHT.

It’s around 5pm now and Brandon texted to ask if I’m coming over. (Not when, but if). I asked about THE PUMPKIN at the heart of the embarrassingly petty conflict between us.

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. I’m not feeling anything like DEEP DESPAIR, but I am feeling a little like “fuck everyone else in the world.” I leave town soon so now it’ll be at least 5 weeks before I even have a chance to see Brandon and Amanda again. 

Those two are my best friends. They took me in when I was at my worst and helped me get my life together when everyone else told them not to take a chance on me. Without them, I wouldn’t be making art or building a career. I wouldn’t have any reason to leave town for 5 weeks.

But knowing they haven’t realized they just missed their last chance to see me until December – that gives me a sinister kinda satisfaction too. I’m PUNISHING THEM.

This painting’s not 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 feeling suicidal BUT I STILL ENJOY THE SENTIMENT.

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. 

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone?” I mean – sure, sort of. But not really. People move on.

The small 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 wrote it with my ex in mind. She says she loves me but – even before she flew off to rehab – she wasn’t with me. I don’t even know that I wanted her to be, but I did want her to want to (be with me).

That’s dumb ego shit. I need to drop it. All the “sinister” stuff – that’s dumb too, but I ENJOY IT SO MUCH. And it might be an inexplicable part of who I am. I’m sort of okay with that because I think it’s a coping mechanism and – so far as coping mechanisms go – I’ve had worse.

You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone was painted from 27 June 2025 through 30 August 2025, with additions on 4 and 18 November 2025, and major revisions on 13 May 2026.

I’ve historically had the policy that once a painting is finished, it is locked in amber as a snapshot of where I was as a person (and an artist) at that moment in time. But I’ve been thinking more seriously about my career lately and want all of my work to be of the highest caliber. After this painting was finished, I wrote long journal entries that I transcribed onto the canvas and used as the foundation for this statement. Months later, I repainted 15-20% of the canvas and cut most of the journals from the statement. They were PRETTY TRIVIAL and I no longer think my work needs embarrassingly specific details to be interesting. My standards for color, composition, and expressivity, on the other hand… KEEP RISING.

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 anyfamily 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. 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. But I don’t know and I’ll probably never look into it, 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. And it would be super nice to know that I’m not gonna die in poverty.

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 has continued to TREND UP. My bank account wouldn’t blow anyone’s mind, but it’s more than most of my friends or family have.

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 cash 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.

[Please excuse my use of the word “faggot” but — as we all know — there’s nothing gayer than falling in love with a girl].

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. I joke about making excuses for not becoming the MOST SUCCESSFUL ARTIST TO EVER LIVE.

The gist is that 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 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 just might be POOR FOREVER.

I painted POOR FOREVER between 8/31/2025 and 10/12/2025, but then went back and did more work on it in May 2026. I wrote this statement on November 17th, 2025.

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…

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