(Satanic Torture) For Andy

August 16, 2013

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“(Satanic Torture) For Andy.” 12/18/12. Pen on scrap. 3×4.5″.

Ritual satanic torture is the #1 cause of death among Americans aged 4 to 14.

After the Sandy Hook shooting, a friend of mine overheard someone say that “more kids are probably killed each year by ritual Satanists than by guns, but you never hear about that on the news.”

I thought it was funny so I drew this cartoon later that night (while sitting in a twelve-step meeting). I’m really good at recovery.

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Status update: Everything’s going really well so far at Dave Strait Fest. It’s been a good night. I just had to creep away for a minute (as I sometimes do) to “recalibrate” a little bit…. I’ve got plenty more to say, but I think I’m done being an awkward, antisocial weirdo (for the time being) so I’m gonna pop out of the shadows and get back to it.

Sealed prints are available in my webstore. "For Andy" print [image]

Hard Feelings

August 15, 2013

"Hard Feelings." 2/16/13. Acrylic, fabric dye, pen, marker, on cardboard. 9x20".

“Hard Feelings.” 2/16/13. Acrylic, fabric dye, pen, marker, on cardboard. 9×20″.

The tenth and final painting in my series, “The Weak End,” says: “When I think about hurting you, I get really excited.” People always think thatt’s an expression of anger, directed at someone I don’t like. Which couldn’t be more wrong. The title, “Hard Feelings,” is an allusion to a Radon lyric: “The only hard feelings that I’ve got are in my front pocket.”

Some of us are sicker than others. I’m cool with it.

If I can be sincere for just one second though, I used to think there was something wrong with me. Punk rock taught me that traditional gender roles and power dynamics are totally fucked and I let that influence my attitudes and behavior, even in the bedroom, for a long time. When it comes to sex though, I don’t feel guilty anymore about what I’m into and what I want to do. I’m still figuring it out and I might find a “line” at some point but (thus far) the more freely I feel able to express myself sexually, the better the outcome seems to be.

And no one’s even been seriously injured yet! So… you know… that seems like a good thing too.

I’m still a little uncomfortable talking about sex – well, when I’m talking to the fucking internet anyway. But I’m getting better. I mean, wrote this much, right?

—–

Status update: Tour’s been a lot of fun so far. En route to Minneapolis right now, running late of course, but I’m not stressed about it.

Got to hang out last night with the St. Louis crew. Saw The Humanoids play for the first time and got a copy of their LP, which was – at one point – slated to be on Traffic Street. After the show, Noelle and company drove to Iowa. Pete, Chris, and I stuck around. Hung out at Darren’s bar then stayed over at Shaun’s house, where he and I explained to Chris that Blink 182 and Fleetwood Mac aren’t punk bands.

I could go on, but this stuff’s not of any tremendous significance. What matters is that it’s good and that I’m happy and grateful to be where I’m at, with the people I’m with. Old friends and new friends. Looking forward to a lot more of that tonight and in the days to come.

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“The Weak End” is a series of ten paintings:

Portraits of God, Nothing, and Fear

August 9, 2013

“Portraits of God, Nothing, and Fear.” February 16th, 2013. Acrylics and gold ink on cardboard. 15x19”.
“Portraits of God, Nothing, and Fear.” February 16th, 2013. Acrylics and gold ink on cardboard. 15×19”.

The third painting of ten in my series, “The Weak End,” created in the last few days of my seven months living in Tranquil Shores’ inpatient facility.

The text in this piece (though barely legible) says, “I’ve basically stopped praying. I do (maybe) three real meetings each week. I don’t EVER think of you. And ‘you’ isn’t even you.”

By early February, I wasn’t technically inpatient anymore. Though I lived on property and was subject to a lot of the same rules as before, I had some special privileges. For example, I was still required to go to at least five meetings a week, but I no longer had to go with everyone else. If I could transport myself, I could go to whatever meetings I wanted, so long as I signed in and out, came back on time, had it approved by my counselor, etc.

On the night that I painted this, I left for a meeting. It was only my sixth one on my own. And I ran out of gas on the way there. For the third time. There were no gas stations in that area, but I was still really close to Tranquil Shores. I was too embarrassed to go back and admit that I had fucked up again though, and in such a basic/stupid way. I decided to hide out in a parking lot until the time when I was scheduled to return from the meeting. But then I got anxious and snuck back onto property early so I could go back to painting. Later, I pretended that I had just forgotten to sign back in.

I didn’t write a statement on this piece back in February and I don’t think I journaled that night either. I wish I had because I don’t even know who the “you” that I “wasn’t thinking about” is. If I had to guess, it was a girl, but it could have been any one of three girls that I would have been having thoughts like this about at the time.

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This was my favorite song that week. I was listening to it at least five or ten times a day.

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“The Weak End” series includes:

4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show

August 8, 2013

"4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show." 2/16/13. Acrylics on cardboard. 18x27".

“4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show.” 2/16/13. Acrylics on cardboard. 18×27″.

 

Sometimes someone will compliment my “talent,” despite the fact that I have none. What I lack in ability though, I make up for in willingness. Almost anyone can do what I do. What makes my art special is that they don’t (and I do!) Creativity? I get good ideas sometimes, but when I’ve got nothing that’s when the willingness really helps out. If I don’t know what to paint, I just go. Honestly, it’s mostly out of necessity. My brain is damaged and expressive art therapy is the best tool I’ve got.

It was Friday and I was upset. I had been at Tranquil Shores for six months so I had the kind of freedom that allowed me to go outside, cross the street, and grab a cardboard box off the curb. I spent the next two hours painting nothing, just moving colors around on the cardboard. When I was done, I was covered in paint and had a 72-inch panel of cardboard that was… also covered in paint. I let it dry and still had no idea what to do with it. I started looking for images that were already there and outlined them with black paint, adding details at will. Two hours later, I realized that I had one “canvas” but (the beginnings of) close to a dozen paintings. So I cut it up and spent the next two days finishing them. I did virtually nothing but paint for about 48 hours. Which is not really the kind of balance that one is taught to strive for while in recovery (and especially treatment)…

But that’s okay because that phase of my life was about to come to an (unanticipated) end. What had started fifteen months (and three facilities) earlier ended the following Tuesday. I gradually started moving out of Tranquil Shores and within ten days, fully transitioned to outpatient treatment. This is the first of those cardboard paintings I made between Friday and Sunday. There are ten in all and I consider them all part of a series that I call “The Weak End”.

The title of this first painting is an allusion to our first group session earlier that day. We had to perform a “talent” of some kind. I had been dreading it all week and tried to get out of it. Initially, I joked that my talent would be a demonstration: “how to cook GHB” (also known as 4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid) – something I learned (through doing) in my last year of law school. Then I joked that my entire life had been performance art and that I should be allowed to simply show up. That didn’t fly either. Ultimately, I brought in a painting, read a statement, and spoke off the cuff a little about it (all while Troublemake songs played in the background).

My apprehension turned out to be for nothing, as my whole “act” was incredibly well received. But as well as I felt about that, I was still off somehow. I think I knew that the end was coming and I was scared to move on. But I did move on and everything worked out really well. I didn’t fall apart the second I moved into the outside world and I actually started to enjoy life more than I ever had in the past. And I discovered that I could stay off heroin, out on my own, for more than three or four days.

One more thing about the title: it’s also (inadvertently) about fear. I hadn’t ever painted anything without some kind of caption but this piece felt right without one. Still, while any words I might add would feel tacked on, I felt a little vulnerable without one. That made it all the more necessary for the painting to have an absurd title for me to hide behind.

—–

Today was a really great day and I think I’m finally starting to get my grip back. In case it doesn’t go without saying, I haven’t been using anything, but abstinence doesn’t equal wellness and it’s been a tough week. I decided this morning to start posting some of the paintings from this series and I’ve got the first four ready to go. The second one will be online soon with more to come…

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Here are a couple photos from early in the process of creating “The Weak End” series of paintings.

The giant painting from which all ten paintings were eventually made.
The giant painting from which all ten paintings were eventually made.

 

Today, I use my hands as often as I use brushes. This was the first time I had done that though.
Today, I use my hands as often as I use brushes. This was the first time I had done that though.

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“The Weak End” series includes:

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  • This painting sold in April, but signed 10×14″ prints are available in my webstore (and they look awesome)!

Beachtown Graffiti

"Beachtown Graffiti." Mixed media. 33x13".

“Beachtown Graffiti.” February 14th, 2013. Mixed media. 33×13”.

On Sundays, we have a twelve-step meeting here on rehab property that’s only open to current patients and alumni. When I walked in, two of the kids told me they had a great money making scheme that I was gonna want to get in on and that they’d tell me about after the meeting.
“Sam, I have a friend who makes two thousand dollars a week, beating off in front of a webcam.”
“I thought you were gonna pitch some kind of business plan that you wanted my help with. But – what – you guys are gonna do this and figured you’d just give me a heads up in case I wanted to do it too?”
“Oh – no. WE’RE not gonna do it, but we figured you’d be into it.”
So – obviously – nobody’s making two thousand dollars a week just to masturbate. But they had a point. I could probably make SOME money by jerking off or putting things in my butt or – you know – doing whatever somebody asked me to do. I think. I mean – these sites still exist so far as I know. I did some research and found a company that seemed legit. I filled out the paperwork, sent in some pictures, and got approved.
But my counselor says that I’m not allowed to be a prostitute – even if it is just on the internet. Not while I’m a patient here anyway.
She wants me to get a real “job.”
So if I understand correctly… if I give someone an hour of my time for three hundred dollars or one hundred dollars or – you know – whatever… If I’m touching my genitals during that hour, I’m a prostitute. But if I give someone an hour of my time for EIGHT DOLLARS an hour… I’m not a prostitute? So long as I don’t have to show anyone my penis?
This doesn’t make sense to me. If I were to do the webcam thing, I could make a decent amount of money and still have lots of time to do the things that are important to me.
If, on the other hand, I wanted to make the same amount of money by – let’s say – washing dishes or bagging groceries, I’d have to sacrifice virtually ALL of my free time. Leaving myself with no opportunity to do the things that make my life worth living. Now THAT sounds a lot more like “selling myself.”
Right now, I feel more free than I’ve felt in my entire life. Six months ago, I was enslaved by heroin. Everything I did… none of it was by choice. It was all directed at shooting heroin, getting heroin, getting money for heroin, or getting shit that I could sell to get money for heroin. I’ve struggled and I’ve cried and I’ve done a ton of work to get to a point where I don’t have to live like that anymore. To get my freedom back. And to use that freedom to discover those things in this world that are meaningful for me.
And now I’m supposed to just give it up and go get some shit job?
What was all of this for? If I’m gonna be a slave, does it matter whether it’s to a drug or to some assistant manager at Publix?
And – so far as taking the bar and becoming a lawyer is concerned – all that shit, it’s all the same to me. Work I don’t enjoy is work I don’t enjoy. It’s all just washing dishes.
Why am I suddenly concerned about money anyway? Because I want to be financially independent outside of a treatment center. Why do I want that?
Basically? A girl.
(Not that any girl has ASKED me to do any of this).
And REALLY, it’s for me. But a girl factors into it.
And it’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s kind of THE BEST thing. But – you know – it’s suddenly a salient issue, where it very recently was not. Whatever.
SO…. do I wanna pull it together and be a grown-up… or do I wanna move to a real city and sleep on the street with a backpack full of paints?
These are just thoughts that I have. They’re not beliefs. They’re fleeting thoughts. They’re a reflection of where I was at in different moments as I painted this. No one needs to read into this, get any ideas, or “point anything out” to me.
I’m striving to be honest, but I’m probably mostly still full of shit.
It’s not a big deal.

—–

That’s all for my “artist’s statement.” Here’s what’s going on today (August 8th):

There was a point in time not so long ago (June) when I’d go back and forth between joy and misery. But it felt right and it felt okay. There were reasons. I was grateful that I was capable of experiencing those highs and those lows. Things are different today. Heather was right that I’m more critical of myself lately, but I think that’s because there’s more to criticize. I just feel off.

But I’m still hopeful. I think I can get back to where I was. I’m missing the confidence I had December through June though and feel like I could crumble under the wrong set of circumstances.

The morning was great. I went and did yardwork for three hours. It’s tedious, I always seem to hurt myself, and (when I stop to think about it) – really – I’m getting paid less than minimum wage. But – I don’t know – on the ride home, I always feel pretty great. Especially when the right song comes into my headphones. And today – as noted this morning – it was definitely Dead North and it definitely made life seem perfect.

But thirty minutes later, I felt overwhelmed, inadequate, and destined to fail. It took me almost all night to work through it – but I was still productive so I’m grateful for that. Mental health really is a chore. And a choice – though not always one that’s easy to make. [Whatever]. It’s a struggle. That much, I know.

Here’s a piece from February, shortly before I left treatment. The statement was written on the same day the piece was finished. While I still think the general idea/sentiment is right on, I can say now that I don’t think I would have ever gone through with this “employment” lead. What makes me think that, you say? Oh, have I got a story for you…

But it’s late, so I’m off to bed with a prayer that I find the courage to tell that story here tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Drop me a line if you give a shit.

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Update (11/17/13): Three months have passed but I finally told part of that story.

Pop Punk Was Dead and That Wasn’t a Bad Thing

July 30, 2013

I spent a really long time on a new painting/statement today – and I can’t take a picture of it so I can’t use any of it! Yeah!

On a more positive note, I got an excellent package in the mail today from Adam Ali! Not only did it include a bunch of awesome new 7-inches from It’s Alive, but it ALSO included a bunch of the stickers that I designed for Adam back in January!

poppunkwasdead“Pop Punk Was Dead and That Wasn’t a Bad Thing.” 1/16/13. Vinyl sticker! 2¾x4¼”.

Check it out. Frankenstein likes The Dopamines! This was the first thing I ever drew in my first (and only) sketchbook. It has a hard cover ’cause I’m a serious fucking artist. Duh. … Actually, now that I think of it, it doesn’t have ANY cover. I cut it off a month after I got it and used it as a canvas for my “I’m Also Available to Babysit” painting.

Anyway… had I not buckled to heroin, The Brokedowns / VBS split 7-inch would have been on Traffic Street, but I’m just as happy to see it out on It’s Alive. IAR was one of the five or six labels that inspired me to start my own back in 2008 and continues to release some of the best music on the planet. I’m really honored to have one of my crappy little doodles on something of theirs. And check out how clever I am – I got a stream of the record right here in my post so you can give it a listen.

You can grab a copy (and lots of other records) from It’s Alive! (Ask for a SC sticker when you checkout)!

My Year in Review

July 29, 2013

On September 10th, 2012, I was still in my first month at Tranquil Shores and (surprise!) was not having the best day. In that morning’s group, we each had to come up with a question to ask and then we had to draw an “animal card.” Each one had some quality on it and some relatively generic mental health stuff that we would then, as a group, figure out how to apply to our question. I was emotionally exhausted. Playing with animal cards was not at the top of my “things I’m excited to do” list. I asked my question – “Why do I even try?” – and drew a card. It was a turtle. And in bold letters at the top of the card it said, “STOP TRYING.”

Two and a half months later, I went into art therapy group. The theme for the week was emotional and spiritual healing. For some reason, I had the turtle in my head. I forget the context but, before we started, Marcia said something about “having yourself [over] for dinner.” Because my brain receives all messages through a pop punk filter, I immediately thought of a Turkish Techno lyric, “I wanna eat you so I can shit you out.”

Turtles and fertility, the new year just days away, spiritual healing, and eating/shitting people. That’s where I was coming from.

myyearinreview
“My Year in Review.” December 28th, 2012. Colored pencil with ink outline. 9×14½”.

The idea is sort of two-fold. First, that I had been destroying myself for (at least) the last two years. Second, that I was going to take all of the bad in me and transform it into something new and better. Or – in a metaphorical sense – eat it and shit it out so that it could grow into something better. (Look at my shirt – it has the word “soil” on it).

So why did I choose my flesh to represent the “bad parts” of myself? Eh, I didn’t really. I’m just fucking fascinated with krokodil and I like to throw in an allusion to it every chance that I get.

Obviously, in this instance the turtle stood in as symbol of fertility rather than retreat, but I also thought it was appropriate as a symbol of the walls I had put up to protect myself, as well as the slow speed at which I had been getting better. (Even though I had checked into rehab more than a year prior, I made this piece just sixteen days after what I consider to be the turning point in my recovery).

I chose to draw a stage as the backdrop as an acknowledgement that much of 2012 had been a performance of one kind or another. I had a script memorized and I turned to it often.

Fun fact: I remember holding my arm up to my mouth every so often while drawing this so I could figure out which pieces of it I could conceivably chew off.  Obviously I can’t bite the flesh directly off of my face, but I chose to have half of it missing to create a sort of two-face thing in reference to my mask, which (in terms of emotional healing) had been really significant for me.

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