What Makes Life Feel Worth Living

“What Makes Life Feel Worth Living.” 6/16/24. Acrylic paint. 24×24″.

This painting was essentially the product of my second month clean and single. To be fully honest, I was still pretty hung up on codependency issues and  the fact that, for once, I didn’t have a girlfriend. I found myself experiencing kind a low-grade depression a lot of days, not really wanting to get out of bed. In my head, I kept thinking that finding a new girlfriend was the answer to all my problems but I knew that, really, that would just be a way to distract myself from my problems. In any case, I was too embarrassed to make a painting about that immediately following one about my ex. I pushed myself to really try to get at something deeper in my journal writing. It took a couple weeks and quite a few attempts before I felt like I got at anything remotely meaningful. That’s what’s written across this canvas (in the upper left and just to the left of the very bottom center).

I struggle a lot with meaning and purpose. “Does anything matter?” “What’s the point of doing anything?” “The world’s a mess,” “I’m a mess,” “is anybody really happy?” I don’t know the answers to those questions but – as long as I’m gonna not-kill-myself and keep living – I’ve gotta try. It’s really hard sometimes. I’m not alone but I feel like I am a lot of the time. One person can really make a difference in that. Whether it’s A GIRL PAYING ATTENTION TO ME or someone deciding to GIVE ME MONEY (for my artwork).

When I tell people about my first month clean and making art again, it’s a success story, mostly on account of the commissions I got from Rick, a stranger walking down the sidewalk. But because I was painting outside and because he stopped to talk to me and took an interest, it’s given me concrete reasons to keep painting and writing. Pretty random, very easily could have NOT happened.

It’s genuinely INCREDIBLE when someone tells me how much my art means to them (and I don’t wanna discount that) but when they PUT THEIR MONEY WHERE THEIR MOUTH IS, it’s crazy validating in a way that’s rivaled only by A HOT GIRL WANTING TO FUCK (or date) ME. (Which is totally unrelated and indicates just how broken I am but that’s an issue for other days). It says that what I’m doing has actual value worthy of supporting human life – MY life. That hard validation can bolster my spirit against any/all of the negative feelings I have that could otherwise overtake me.

Even when everything else is wrong, one well-timed “yes” can make all the difference. A thousand rejections are nothing against a few key “yeses.”

These things are small and inconsequential in a world that’s so random and meaningless but when nothing matters, we choose what matters and I choose what makes my life feel worth living.

Taking a chance is worthwhile. Saying “yes” to someone is meaningful. Helping another person, offering encouragement, supporting an artist (ESPECIALLY WHEN IT’S ME). These are things that count. We never know what small act might be HUGELY CONSEQUENTIAL for someone else.

I still don’t know if I’m going to be able to revive my art career and make a living like I was, but it’s working out so far thanks to just a few people and a few key moments and decisions. It reminds me of the last lyric from one of my favorite songs: “just one good thing, that’s all – sometimes that’s all it takes.”

I lined up a handful of commissions right out of the gate upon getting clean: paintings that I had no idea what they’d be but that were pre-paid-for before I even started them. Knowing that a painting is already sold while I’m working on it is really motivating. It gives me a push to get to work. That’s over (at least as of this moment; no one has pre-purchased my next painting). That makes me a little nervous but it’s also how most artists operate – not to mention the only way I’ll ever be able to amass enough paintings to ever have another exhibit. I’m on my own for the first time in a while and need to start hustling again – whether that’s going out on the street to paint in public while slinging prints or putting more effort and thought into my social media. Probably both. It used to come so easily to me but now it seems almost impossible – though much less so than it did even a month ago. One of the main reasons I stayed on drugs so long was because it was an excuse not to do anything else. I’m so afraid of trying and failing. But I’ve got to try. I’ve gotta put myself out there. And hopefully I’ll get the “yeses” I need to keep going.

I’m in danger of rambling now. I wanna say something about how those “yeses” are less-than-ideal external validation in the same way that female attention is, but that’s a subject for another time. The spirit of this painting was about the positive feelings that come making something meaningful that resonates with another person and the positive consequences of that other person’s response. Not everything needs to be overanalyzed. Nothing is perfect but sometimes little things spark joy and pride and feel an awful lot like fulfillment – even if only for a moment. And sometimes that’s enough.

The song quoted in my painting (on the little blue guy’s black t-shirt): “Precious on the Edge” by Drunken Boat

This painting has already been sold but limited edition 12×12″ signed, hand-numbered prints are available for purchase WHILE SUPPLIES LAST.


Baby Dick Virgin

“Baby Dick Virgin.” 5/1/24. acrylic paint. 16×20″.

In the past, the smaller text in my paintings tended to be raw journals, scrawled onto the canvas in the moment. For this, my first painting in five years, I sort of typed out the story of the piece as I was going and, then, transcribed it to the canvas a little later. For that reason, the smaller text featured in the painting, essentially, is my artist’s statement for the piece. It says:

I left my girlfriend again but this time we didn’t get back together because there was some baby dick virgin waiting to pounce the second she was vulnerable and she says she likes that he looks at her like a puppy dog and even though she says she’ll never love him as much as she loves me AND THAT I’M HER SOULMATE, that because I don’t believe in soulmates and because he’s “ordinary,” maybe that would be safer for her. That’s all obviously FINE AND FUCKING DANDY except for the part that’s DRIVING ME UP THE GOD DAMN WALLS trying to decide if I miss her because I’m in love with her or if I’m just a lonely little codependent fuck who can’t stand the idea of being alive while there’s not a beautiful girl who is ACTIVELY in love with me.

It’s been two weeks since I wrote [the [preceding paragraph]. I wanna write about how I’ve FUCKED HER since then, how she took pictures of it, how her fat uncle of a boyfriend saw the pictures, forgave her, and then I FUCKED HER AGAIN (and then some). But that’s just pettiness and spite and me feeling like I got a win that I need to advertise. I’m not trying to get back together with her. I would very much like to destroy their relationship. Not just as a fuck you. I do still genuinely care about her and she’s not going to get better while she’s hiding from her issues in that joke of a rebound. She knows now that she can literally do anything and he will never drop her because he’s too pathetic and broken to ever think he could do any better. I’m VERY tempted to name this painting after him.

I ultimately did. After committing it to the canvas in giant letters, I wrote:

Choosing this title is the pettiest thing I’ve done in my work. But it’s SUCH a ridiculous choice that I couldn’t help it that the thought made me smile as much as it did. (And I argued with myself and consulted with friends but kept coming back to it, so I clearly needed to EXPEL THE VENOM so/before I could move on). I know it’s shitty, toxic masculinity and probably only highlights my own lack of self-esteem that I enjoyed winning a DICK MEASURING CONTEST as much as I did but – you know what? I never did shit to that dweeb and HE called ME from her phone to SCREAM at me for no fucking reason, at a time when I was already fragile as fuck. So fuck him – he gets what he gets and he can live with the world knowing that [redacted] he wasn’t MEASURING UP (in any way).

I promise this will be my last painting for a minute that’s secretly about HOW GREAT my own dick is. Though I’m sure it’s the first of many more that’s ACTUALLY about how fucking insecure I am, in spite of everything. BUT I’M GETTING BETTER (I swear). Today is day 23 [since I got clean again].

This next, final part is definitely less of a journal and more a defense. I anticipated some strong reactions as soon as I put the painting up on my social media and I guess I wanted to kind of preempt some of the criticism.

I’m pretty embarrassed by the sentiment of this painting but that feeling often indicates when I’m onto something that’s significant for me and/or will somehow be meaningful to other people. It also makes me feel like a little bit of a BULLY but it’s not as if I have some huge platform these days. The dink at hand might never even learn this painting exists. I feel a little guilty – even having her approval – that the previews I posted online already caused some discord in her family and anxiety for her but… I can’t control or really even concern myself with other people’s reactions. So long as I’m being honest and my work is authentic (even when partially powered by spite), I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

The painting went online and, sure enough, even with my hedging, I still got some negative responses – even stronger than what I’d feared. One person told me they no longer wanted a painting of mine that they owned and asked for an address that they could ship it back to!  And I’m sure there were plenty more who chose the “if you don’t have anything nice to say…” path. But I also got some really great, positive responses beyond what I even hoped. People who saw past the pettiness and the ego and really seemed to understand, relate to, appreciate, and admire what I’d made. As an artist (especially a snarky little shit-eater of an artist) what more can I ask for?

“Baby Dick Virgin” has already been sold, but limited edition 11×14″ signed, hand-numbered prints are available for purchase.


What year is it?

I was gonna wait until I had something more “polished” to post but – let’s face it – it’s not like I have any semblance of a career at the moment and the reason I started writing and painting in the first place was for the sake of my mental health, so I’m just gonna get back to that for a second.

It’s been another year (and change since I last updated my blog). I relapsed again. Obviously. I’m on methadone right now and (in the process of) titrating off.

Motherfucker. Ten minutes ago, I was overwhelmed by the impulse to write but I made the mistake of showering and getting dressed first and now I can’t even remember what was so god damn important. All I know is that I want to paint right now and I hung up the piece that I need to work on and then just felt overwhelmed by anxiety.

I’ll have to get back to you…


Mental Health Services Available to Strippers, Junkies, Cutters, and Other SICK GIRLS

“Mental Health Services Available to Strippers, Junkies, Cutters, and Other SICK GIRLS.” 12/6/17. Acrylic paint. 3×4′.

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:

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:

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.


12×16-inch prints of “SICK GIRLS” are available for purchase in the webstore. For availability and pricing of my original paintings, send a message.


As noted, I wrote a draft of this statement back in 2019. For historical purposes, you can read it here.



Back and on the attack (just like that Voodoo Glow Skulls song except not stupid)

OKAY – how many times have we done this now? Just twice, right? MAYBE three times? Who cares. Here’s the obligatory first-post-after-a-long-relapse post. “WHAT WENT WRONG THIS TIME,” YOU ASK? Again – who fucking cares? Here are the only details that I feel are relevant:

  1. I got back together with Wallis in January 2018 after just three months apart.
  2. Shit went off the rails sometime in the spring when I started using.
  3. Shit went WAY off the rails by October and we split up.
  4. I called Brandon, he agreed to take me to detox the next day.
  5. Before that happened, that same night, I got arrested for more drug charges. (Surprise!)
  6. I got bailed out by my sister ’cause she’s a sweet girl and it WAS ALMOST MY BIRTHDAY.
  7. I went into detox and moved in with Brandon and Amanda.
  8. Two months later, I switched it up and moved in with Ellen.
  9. I started painting again.
  10. I’ve got two new pieces. One’s already sold; the other hasn’t. (I’ll be posting and writing about all of my “new” art (from this year and last year) here, very soon).
  11. I’ve been in outpatient treatment since I got out of the hospital.
  12. Oh – speaking of which – I also had some broken bones around the same time as my detox, from a motorcycle accident. (More on that later (MAYBE)).
  13. Shit’s going fucking good. (Not “well,” but GOOD; fuck your grammar; language is for communication; I don’t care about rules).
  14. I recently started dating someone new and I like her a wholllllllllllle fucking lot but I’m not gonna write a lot about her here just now because I learned from experience that – even when the girl is cool with it – parents don’t seem to like it when their daughter starts dating an artist with no sense of boundaries or propriety and writes all about their beloved child’s private life on the internet. Her name is Juliana though and she’s just wonderful.
  15. Oh – and because I know YOU KIDS WORRY, I’ll just say this much: No, she is not now (nor has she ever been) a heroin addict. And I’m pretty sure she’ll be good for me and I’m gonna do everything I can to be good for her.

Cool? Cool.

More substantive (or at least art-related) posts coming very soon.

Here’s a recent photo of me on a day I was wearing an “employable human” costume – because I don’t want to post the photos of my new paintings just yet but because blog posts should have SOME kind of graphic, right?

I didn’t (proof)read this post after typing it because I’m in a hurry just this minute. If I wrote something wrong, maybe I’ll fix it later, MAYBE NOT.

Love you nerds. Thanks for caring.


5 months clean

Tomorrow marks five months clean. Everything’s going pretty well. I’m a little bummed that I haven’t been able to share decent photos my post-relapse paintings on here yet (there are five finished paintings so far, another that’s in progress, and a drawing that’s in progress as well). I should be able to get most of them photographed sometime this week, at which point I’ll start writing the ancillary statements for each so that I can give each one its own proper blog entry AND start offering prints for sale.

The big news lately (as those that follow me on Facebook already know) is that I got Wallis back down here and back off drugs. (Things took a (predictably) bad turn for her when we split up and she went back to Jacksonville). There’s no judgment in that statement by the way; if I had been in that situation, I very sincerely doubt that I’d have fared even the slightest bit better. Anyway, initially we (I, with the help of some friends) got her into inpatient rehab but – for reasons I’m not going to get into – that didn’t really pan out as well as we might’ve hoped. So she’s been back out now for a few days and I’m scrambling a little bit to figure out where to put her. Art sales have been going as well as could be expected considering I’m just now getting back to it after a two-year hiatus/relapse but the brief period that she was in rehab wasn’t exactly enough time for me to make enough money to find a place for her to live. (She’s, of course, going to be getting a job and paying her own way but someone has to cover her first month’s rent and who’s that gonna be if not me?) Toward that end, I swallowed ALL OF MY PRIDE and actually got a “real job” for the first time in ten thousand years. I’m not super happy about it; it feels a little bit like an acknowledgment of failure; like maybe I can’t support myself (and someone else) off art alone but history’s already proven that that’s not true and I’m confident that this isn’t the new “state of affairs” and that I’ll be able to return full-time to art in the relatively near future. It basically boils down to the question of what’s more important to me: my pride and my image or providing a safe place for the girl that I love to recover/heal/rebuild in the same way that I was so recently given the opportunity to do?

I guess that about covers it for now. Hit me up if you wanna buy some art. Apparently these “JOBS” have these things called “pay periods” where you don’t get your money until, like, two Fridays after you do the stuff that you do and I’d like to start renting a place before then. But – you know – whatever. It’s all gonna work out regardless. IT SORT OF ALWAYS DOES.

photo, Thursday, 2/15/2018


Still clean (105 days)

I was thinking earlier today that I need to accept the idea that I’m never going to be happy. That seems kind of strange coming from someone that has a smile plastered to his face so much of the time. And it’s not like I’m faking being happy. I’m having fun. I’m laughing. I’m enjoying myself and my friends and the dumb (fairly ordinary lately) shit that I’ve been getting into. But I’ve been spending so much time with friends lately and – when I’m with friends – I mostly feel pretty okay. But then – when I get back to being alone – it’s kind of another story. Chris Hembrough was just in town visiting and I spent the whole week with him at his mom’s house; it was sort of like being on vacation. We’d get up every morning, go to the gym, get lunch, kick around the house for a bit, and then go out at night to meet up with more friends. And we had a lot of fun. Like, pretty much every minute of every day was fun. Now that I’m back “home,” I’m thinking about the fact that I don’t really have my own home right now. I don’t even really have my own room. I feel like a child. Like a dependent. I need to rebuild my life and get back to being independent. But what does that even look like? Where does that take place? Who am I even anymore?

So I still talk to my sort-of/pseudo-(ex)-girlfriend every day and we try to make plans to get her into detox or rehab and, ultimately, down here to me. But she’s got no money, no nothing; she can’t stay where I stay, so I’m on the hook for at least her first month’s rent. Which is fine because I want her here and there have been plenty of times when I was in worse shape than her and she took care of me. But, obviously, my resources are super limited right now; if they weren’t, then I wouldn’t still be in the position that I’m in right now. So it’s, like, I need to make more money but the only way I make money is from art and while there’s some degree to which I can make sales happen, it’s ultimately (more or less / at the end of the day) just about catching breaks and getting lucky. It’s about somebody hitting me up and wanting to buy one of the originals and making me “rich” again. It’s not like I have the resources or the tools that I need right now to hammer it out the way that I used to so far as selling prints on the street or hitting up galleries is concerned. So – yeah – all I can really do is what I do and hope that it comes back to me.

But let’s fast forward a little bit. Let’s say enough time passes that we get our own place and move back in together. Is that here? Is that in some other city or state? There’s so much I need to do before I’ll even be in a position where I could move my life somewhere else again. But let’s say that I get all my shit worked out, let’s say we do move away together and get our own place again… Let’s say my art career picks back up and I’m making good money again. Let’s say I get everything that I want

I’m just gonna want different shit. There’s gonna be something wrong with something and I’m not gonna be okay. She’s gonna get fucked up again, or I’m gonna be stressed that she’s gonna get fucked up again, or get upset about how her family hates me, or – whatever.

And that’s not to say that all of my problems are about her. They’re not. They’re really, really not. And even if they were, if it weren’t her, it’d be another girl. I’m sure.

Like I wrote on one of my new paintings, it seems like it all always come down to girls and money. That’s what I always stress about; that’s what I’m probably always going to stress about no matter what.

SO… – how do I get okay with that?

I don’t fucking know. But the easy, obvious answer is that I don’t and that this is just the way that life works. So I need to just enjoy the good moments and do the things that I like to do. I need to do the things that put that dumb, crooked smile on my face so much of the time.

And just fucking hope that it all works out….?

That seems like such a copout. I’m not trying to rely on faith. I make things happen for myself. But I can’t right now. So how am I even “me” still? Am I? Am I Sammy thrashLife or am I “Sam North” or… I don’t even know what that shit means right now.

It’s moments like these when I feel like I need to change everything about myself and start from scratch. But shit… when I think about what that looks like, I realize that I may feel insecure about who I am right now or what I’m doing but I know who and what I’m not. And from that I can pretty much extrapolate to who I am. And – yeah – for better or worse, I’m that reckless, fucked up, paint-covered, snarky fucking kid (who’s not much of a kid anymore) and trying to be anything else is just gonna make me miserable for real. Not “dissatisfied in quiet moments” but straight up depressed all the time.

So I guess I should go paint some funny fucking faces now and maybe scribble about my feelings a little more.


I need a professional photographer in my new (temporary) hometown so that I can get real photos of my new work for use online and to make prints from. For now, here are three sorta-decent iPhone photos of the three pieces I’ve finished since getting clean. They’re not clear enough to zoom in and see any detail but they oughtta give you the basic idea. Two are still available for purchase, one is sold.

“Enjoy Me While You Can” (the newest of the 3) 3×2′.

“Chemicool” (this one’s real small) – the colors are brighter than they appear in the photo.

the first of my post-relapse pieces, “Mental Health Services Available to Strippers, Junkies, Cutters, and Other SICK GIRLS” (it’s 3×4′)