“Give Me Money and Praise.” 2/24/13. Acrylic paint and ink on cardboard. 14×6″.
I made this on the day that I first tried to sell my artwork. It’s kind of embarrassing. Beneath the bolder caption is some less legible text: “Fill your arms with paint. Sorry. I fill my arms with paint. Or I want to anyway. Um. Metaphorically. This thing is kind of cool. I guess it is what I thought it’d be. I feel selfish though. Like I’m not watching the other bands.”
Translation: Dumb phrase that sounds poetic. Apology for not speaking in the first person (as we’re taught in treatment). Analogy about using artwork in place of heroin to manage my anxiety. Craft Fest [in St. Pete] is kind of cool and about what I expected it to be. I haven’t looked at anything any of the other people are selling at their tables and I feel guilty in the same way I might if I were playing a show and didn’t go inside to watch any of the bands before/after my own.
I felt weird about all of that so I decided to just write out my bluntest, most human feelings on top of it: “Give me money and praise and I’ll give you this.”
Fun facts: On that first day, I did sell a few pieces: Why I Fail, Clarity, and – my favorite at the time – Beachtown Grafitti. A few others too. I do okay, huh?
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Status Update (December 12, 2013)
Alex and I went to go see the “Everything is Terrible” holiday show at Sun-Ray tonight. When we walked out of the theater, there was a big gaping hole on the wall where one of my paintings once hung. I asked what happened and was handed an envelope with more money in it than I’ve ever been given for a single painting. Somebody bought it right on the spot and gave instructions to tell me that I’m “an international artist now” because it’s going in their home in Paris. So that’s pretty fucking awesome. And (like Beachtown Grafitti) – at the time of this one’s sale – it was also my favorite: Snowflakes Anonymous.
I’m really wrapped up in a “project” right now that’s costing me a lot of money and won’t pay anything (it’s not for me – it’s for some people that I care about). I was stressing about it earlier today but just told myself that it’s a nice thing to do and I don’t need to get all nervous because I like to believe that things will always work out when I’m making good, positive choices. And then this happened tonight so… Life’s kinda cool, right?
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Here’s a song that’s rad as fuck.
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Numbered, signed, and sealed Give Me Money and Praise prints are available in my webstore. If you’re interested in purchasing the original, get in touch.
I drew this in the same Alcoholics Anonymous meeting as the original (lost) Autobiography cartoon. It’s one of the random scrap drawings that I wasn’t sure I’d ever actually add to the site but – while going through files, sizing artwork for my next batch of prints – I decided to clean it up a little bit and I sorta like it now. Besides – this little character’s got history! He popped up again just two days later in Group Therapy.
Anyway, I’ve been at it now for virtually all of the last twenty-four hours. I was up all night doing all sorts of basic maintenance/inventory kinds of stuff so that I can reorder out-of-stock prints, get some others for the first time, and buy more of the supplies that I need to package ’em all. I think I’ll probably stay up straight through the day and just go to sleep tonight. I can’t remember the last time I did that, but I feel pretty okay. I’ve been so productive that – until this moment – it hadn’t even occurred to me that I haven’t taken any Adderall today; I’m just on a streak, I guess.
Around 7 or 8 this morning, I took a break from the boring business end of “being an artist” and started working on a new cartoon, which I’m going to finish today but (for TOP SECRET REASONS) won’t be able to share with anyone for a month or so. I’m pretty excited about it though; it’s coming out really well.
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When I looked up that Atom & His Package song for yesterday’s entry, I stumbled into this one first, which I had never heard before. I saw Atom & His Package play when I was fourteen (at The Orpheum in late 2000). It’s never really been my thing but after more than a decade of not being even slightly interested in anything beyond “Punk Rock Academy,” it’s starting to grow on me. This one’s really good. It’s total nonsense but it’s just too god damn catchy and energetic to ignore.
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4×5½” prints of “Shoot Me” (numbered, signed, and sealed) are available in my webstore. In the same listing (for the same price) you can also buy the original.
“I’m Downright Amazed” was included on Atom’s final release, which my friend Alex told me is one of the best live albums he’s ever heard.
“Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t kill yourself. You TOTALLY can.”
This was my last piece before I moved out of Tranquil Shores and back into the real world. Until that morning, I had been operating under the assumption that I’d be staying for at least another two months or so but – as I found out when I went into the clinical office that morning – I only had ten days left. I was really upset – kind of shattered. It caught me completely off guard. I walked back to the residential property, went into my apartment, and painted this. It’s only on my jacket because I didn’t ever have canvases at that point and I was all out of cardboard.
I’m not sure the sentiment warrants any explanation but it’s a play on the misuse of “can” (in place of “may”) and a response to anyone who says that suicide is wrong or selfish. I think that’s true in some instances: the moment you decide to have kids, for example, I think you forfeit your right to kill yourself. To bring another life into being and then decide, “ehhhh… maybe life’s not worth living after all,” – that’s kinda bullshit. But in my case – back when I was seriously contemplating (and occasionally attempting) suicide, I didn’t have anyone in my life – no one that I felt I owed anything to anyway. I was isolated, hopelessly stuck on heroin, and every day hurt. Living was reallypainful. I think it was my older sister (I don’t remember for sure) but shortly after I got out of the hospital for an overdose in September 2011, I got a phone call.
“That’s a really selfish thing to do, Sam,” she said.
Fuck you, I thought. “You wanna know what’s selfish?” I asked. “Expecting me to endure this kind of pain every day – to keep on with this shitty, empty life, devoid of any happiness whatsoever – so that you can call me on the phone two or three times a year.”
Obviously, my life didn’t have to be that awful but – at that point – I didn’t have what I needed to do anything about it. And while I’m glad I didn’t die, I still (basically) feel the same way. Things turned around for me but there are plenty of other people who aren’t so lucky – people who struggle for decades with mental illness and addiction and never find any kind of a light. Carrying on with each new day is a gamble that doesn’t always pay off. And while I’ll always try to encourage someone to try something different / take another shot at life before they throw in the towel, I still wouldn’t tell them that they have to keep going. There are certain people whose deaths would devastate me but I know how bad life can hurt and I’m not gonna deny them relief. If you can’t take it anymore, it’s your right to check out – and the pain others might feel from the loss isn’t on you. After all – if it’s more than they can stand, everyone else always has that same option…
Although – if nothing else – suicide is pretty dumb – and sorta lazy. The thing about it is that it’s usually the result of feeling trapped in some situation. Being afraid of the consequences of breaking out [of whatever position]. But in killing yourself, you’re gonna break out of it anyway so why not first take a shot at another route of escape? Throw some shit in your backpack, get on a bus to some city eight hundred miles away, and just see what happens. Have a fucking adventure. If you can’t handle your problems: DON’T. Quit your job, forget about your lease, disconnect your phone, and just start over. Worse case scenario: you’re still unhappy and you kill yourself a week or two later. But if you’re not determined to be miserable (and you actually make an effort / try something new) chances are you’re gonna figure it out eventually. I did.
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I’d like to think I offset the gloom of this entry with a little bit of optimism, but if I fell short, maybe this’ll make up the difference. It’s a song that is totally unlike most of the music I listen to, is (in a lot of ways) every thing that I usually detest in music, but that (for whatever reason) has a really positive, exciting, happy kind of effect on me.
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2026 update: When I relapsed a decade ago, things didn’t go especially well for me. At one point in 2017, there were multiple warrants out for my arrest and the cops KEPT COMING AROUND. After one night when they were especially determined to get me, I hopped a fence in the backyard, took off, and didn’t go back home for a month, and – even then – only to quickly grab my stuff before leaving town (Jacksonville) for good. This jacket/painting was one of the things I was sad to realize I’d left behind.
Initially, when I got clean again, I still sold all of my old artwork as prints. This one still sold a lot, despite the fact that – divorced from its story, I don’t think it’s any good. More recently, I stopped restocking the older stuff that I’m not unequivocally proud of. A handful of those old pieces though, I decided to use the concepts for new paintings. This one became D.L.A.T.Y.Y.C.K.Y.Y.T.C.
From my journal yesterday, immediately after finishing this painting:
I’ve got some cute little one-liners. I’ve got some snappy phrases that sound cool but don’t really mean anything. I don’t want to bullshit and I don’t wanna tag this with something that doesn’t represent it.
It took FOREVER to paint. So many layers, so much starting from scratch.
The truth is I’m sick, on the couch, and nothing is in my head. The truth is I’m not always SUPER BRILLIANT. And I don’t wanna not create just ’cause [whatever]. But I don’t really know what’s driving me right now. Maybe it’s just ’cause it’s what I feel like I’m supposed to do at this point. Which is lame but maybe that’s okay. I don’t know. Do I take a break or do I just keep going? Having a cold sucks. Feeling crummy physically is fucking with my ability to DO, which is fucking with my emotional well-being. Tomorrow I’m gonna get dressed and pretend I’m fine. Maybe I am. I guess?
I HATE giving the impression that I’m not doing well, especially when I’m not not doing well. I just have a cold! But if “success” is doing well (being happy) maybe it’s also being okay with acknowledging little hang-ups and demonstrating a progression beyond the pink cloud.
Maybe I’m too caught up in impressions in the first place. Living under a spotlight (even a little one) has its drawbacks. I hate feeling like (or realizing) that it’s influencing me in what I do or how I do it but – honestly – I wouldn’t be pushing myself like this if I didn’t feel like there was some expectation that I “produce.” Is that good or bad? I wanna call it ambition but it makes me feel small (I’m not a famous/important artist); it makes me feel like a joke. But I’m not. I’m okay. I just need to chill out.
It’s a fine line between humility and insecurity – between arrogance and self-esteem. I get carried away in both directions. I don’t need to “tenth step” my every thought / impulse. Hey, Sam: relax – everything’s cool. I know.
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I saw this article today about creativity. There were two statements I really identified with.
“The study shows that if you have the sneaking suspicion you might not belong, the act of being rejected confirms your interpretation. The effect can liberate creative people from the need to fit in and allow them to pursue their interests.”
“To live creatively is a choice. You must make a commitment to your own mind and the possibility that you will not be accepted. You have to let go of satisfying people, often even yourself.“
That last part seemed especially relevant right now, given this new painting and last night’s journal entry. As I wrote about it, on the canvas [near top-center], “I can’t get to a place where I feel okay with what I’ve done.”
It made me think about what it means to be “beyond the pink cloud.” I think it means accepting that life isn’t always going to be 100% awesome all the time. I used to think that the most a person could hope for was “to be happy 50% of the time.” I don’t think that’s true anymore, but I still think it gets to something that might be true. I think a good aspiration might be “to be 50% happy all of the time” – by which I mean: even when things aren’t going so great, to be able to pause and recognize that I’m at least 50% okay… that some thing might be wrong – but not every thing is wrong; most things are okay.
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“Fragile is the hell we make for ourselves when we acknowledge that the spotlight’s on.” – from Fuck You, Ms. Rochelle by Dillinger Four
The range of textures (and the shadows they project) make this a difficult piece to photograph. I’ll be getting a better photo when I go to the print shop so I’ll replace it then.
Signed 12×16″ prints of “Beyond the Pink Cloud” are available in my webstore. Hit me up if you’re interested in purchasing the original 18×24″ painting.
This image was an accident. It was just a piece of paper, on my desk, beneath something that I was actually working on. I brought it with me to work on while I tabled at Indie Market [the day I painted “Roller Skating Sideways Through Blood” and “Getting Greedy“]. Ultimately, I didn’t do anything to it; instead, opting to use it as a statement about THE VALUE OF ART. (Wow! I sure am thoughtful and interesting!)
Set up on the sidewalk across from me were some kids selling a socialist newspaper they had written and published. When I was younger, I might have thought that was kind of cool and impressive but – at this point – I couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly fucking fruitless of an endeavor that must be. To publish a socialist newspaper in Tampa, Florida. I mean – what kind of a person thinks that they’re going to make the slightest fucking bit of a difference with something like that? I mean – ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Not to mention: how incredibly fucking boring.
I picked my “Value of Art” piece back up to add the words: “AND SOCIALISM!”
Though I saw the similarity between this piece and their newspaper even then, it’s only in hindsight that I see the similarity between their newspaper and everything that I do. After all, if their paper is even slightly worth a shit, I’m sure they turn someone on to a new idea every once in a while and set them on a path to… something or other… I’m sure they’ve made some kind of a positive difference in someone’s life. And I’m sure it gives a sense of purpose to theirs.
So while – on some level – I might think that publishing a socialist newspaper is a total waste of fucking time… I’ve got to admit that it’s roughly equivalent to everything I’ve ever made and everything I ever will make. So – you know – power to the proletariat or what-the-fuck-ever.
5×6″ prints of “I’m Publishing a Socialist Newspaper in Tampa, Florida” are available in my webstore. The original sold earlier this year.
I’m still sick and it’s bumming me out. I think one of those two new paintings I’ve been talking about is done though. If so, it’ll be online tomorrow… So… that’s kinda cool, I guess.
This was a treatment assignment, one morning in group. To draw a portrait of my “inner-child.” Or – more accurately – to let my inner child draw his own self-portrait (using just a few crayons (of my choice) and my non-dominant hand). So… this is me at age four.
There’s not much I feel like writing about it beyond that explanation, so here’s an excerpt from my “life story.” Since I’m pairing it with a drawing of me as a kid, I chose a part about my childhood but not that particular age.
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Sometime during third grade, it was decided that I’d test for Pine View, the “gifted” public school in south county. IQ of 140 or higher required for admission. My parents wouldn’t tell me what I scored because they didn’t want Racey and I comparing.
I started fourth grade at my new school and was relatively okay with the change. I got along with the other kids better than I had at other schools and some of my friends from the last one had made the switch as well. There was one important difference. I had always been the destroyer of other students without even having to try; I constantly got the best grades on everything with very little effort. Some of the kids here though were smart. Maybe even as smart as me. That would’ve been okay had they not also been extremely motivated. Like me, they enjoyed being the best. Unlike me, they were willing to work for it. In hindsight I can also see that they had something with which I was almost totally unfamiliar: an alien concept called “self-esteem.” They wanted to get the highest grades they could, but seemed less concerned with how well their peers did. I, on the other hand, would be thrilled with any grade – no matter how low – so long as nobody else got a higher grade. They wanted As; I wanted to win the contest in my head. I needed to win the contest in my head. I may have been an uncontrollable, argumentative, morally-challenged basket case of a nine year-old, but so long as I was smarter than the other kids, that made it all okay, right?
It was time to buckle down, put in the necessary time and energy and learn to be proud of my achievements independent of the performance of my peers.
Yeah. Right.
I’m not sure if I was aware of it at all at the time, but I called an audible and went with a brilliant alternate strategy. “If victory’s not guaranteed, just don’t play.” I may not even know how to play chess, but if I never sit down at the board, all you can do is guess. I could be terrible but I could be Bobby fucking Fisher. Prove me wrong. You can’t.
From that point on, I did a half-assed job on everything. I was still well-spoken enough for everyone to know that I was intelligent; I had just opted out of the contest that might have given someone evidence that I wasn’t the most intelligent. The kids at Pine View loved to accuse each other of having parents that bribed the psychiatrists who administered their IQ tests for admission. I had the lowest grades in class, yet no one ever pointed at me. “Sam’s smart, he just doesn’t care.” Nothing could be further from the truth. I cared a lot. But what else could I do? Try, and risk failure? No way. These kids can’t think they’re better than me. I can’t think these kids are better than me.
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When fourth grade started, there was still only one band that I really gave a shit about. A couple months into the school year, they put out a new album. I had a bunch of favorites but, on the day I got it, the best song was “Brat.”
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Signed and numbered prints of “Little Red Boy” are listed for sale in my webstore.
“Calvin Mather’s Refrigerator.” 7/13/13. Acrylic paint on a broken mini-fridge.
Before “No Real Than You Are,” my only acting experience was being totally full of shit in real life. Word on the street is that I gave a pretty good audition, but that’s probably only because the character (Calvin Mather) is incredibly similar to a slightly younger Sam North. Calvin is an intravenous drug addict with serious abandonment issues, who built his life on dumb punk songs and doesn’t believe in anything.
Seeing as I have a pretty good understanding of such a character, Vincent [who wrote and directed the film] gave me almost free reign to do whatever I wanted so far as Calvin’s clothes and apartment were concerned. Shitty studio apartments have mini-fridges and microwaves, so I got those [thanks, Joe!] but found out shortly thereafter that the fridge didn’t work. That’s fine since… you know… Calvin’s not real, but it meant that nobody would be using it when we were done filming so… I painted it. The front (“Food is For People”) is about how I mainly consume Adderall, cigarettes, and candy. The side (“Works Less Than I Do”) is about how I pay my bills by painting pictures of funny faces and (at that point) playing pretend. Watch the trailer to the movie and you can probably spot it in one of the shots.
I didn’t paint the microwave but I did bring it back to Jacksonville with me. Sometimes I pop popcorn in it. It also totally heats up leftover pizza and old coffee. Other stuff too! Pretty cool, right?
