Uncertainty over Unhappiness

January 30, 2026

“Uncertainty over Unhappiness.” 5/5/25. Ink on bristol. 10×10″.

This drawing started with a request: “Will you make a painting of my house?” 

Yeah, um, absolutely not. 

But I told the guy I could do my usual nonsense but work his house somewhere in there.

He was cool with that but told me he didn’t want any BAD WORDS or NEGATIVE MESSAGES. As if I couldn’t have deduced that on my own. I don’t take instructions but I’m not gonna deliver something I know the buyer won’t like. And someone who starts off with a request like his – he wants something SAFE. Safe = uplifting, positive. Hope, not despair. And NOTHING TOO FUNNY OR CYNICAL.

Listening to a podcast, I heard something that I’d written about many times before: “People will choose unhappiness over uncertainty.” Hearing it articulated by someone else made it feel especially profound – particularly in relation to someone who’d been blowing up my phone all day. I knew UNCERTAINTY VS UNHAPPINESS had to be the theme here; I just needed a positive angle on it.

I wrote a journal into the drawing:

It’s frustrating when someone you love chooses to rot in misery. What’s she so afraid of? Why can’t she break away?

BUT I DID THE SAME THING. I surrendered to an empty life because my familiar rut was comfortable compared to other hells I’d called home (or the hell in my imagination). 

SOMETIMES A SAFETY NET IS MORE NET THAN SAFETY. I had to lose mine to break free.

But uncertainty is better than unhappiness. “Someday this will all be over” and the regrets I’ve got are enough. Despair’s not worth much; might as well trade it for uncertainty. It’s worth the risk.

I was trying to articulate the sense of danger that breaking out of a rut often requires. You don’t like what your life’s become but you’re afraid to change anything. I did this for YEARS, so I get it. I told myself, “It could be SO MUCH WORSE. Surely, this degree of unhappiness is manageable.”

But that’s not living- it’s surviving. And our time is limited. We need to be bold. We need to chase dreams. And so long as we’re making a genuine effort – following our hearts instead of giving in to fear – I think it’s rare for things to go too wrong.

It’s only in resignation that we sink into really deep, lasting depressions. Nobody making a real effort is sad all the time because making an effort is ENERGIZING. The pursuit itself makes us feel good. Even when I’ve fallen short or things didn’t work out exactly as I’d like, I’ve yet to regret any steps I’ve taken to improve my life.

On the other hand, when I’ve resisted change – just to hold onto the pathetic little comforts I thought made my life bearable: I’d give just about anything to go back and let my shit fall apart sooner – so that I could get better sooner.

If you’ve gotta convince yourself that you’re happy, you’re not. And you won’t be until you make serious changes. And you probably already know what those changes are. If you’re afraid, don’t be. In considering bold, positive steps, the things we’re afraid to lose are likely keeping us sick. And the thing we’re actually most likely to lose is our misery.

A note about this drawing’s origins…

Toward the end of my eight-and-a-half year relapse, I’d become so resigned to addiction for the rest of my life, that I decided to try to start making art again. Until that point, it’d always been my policy that art and drugs would never coexist in my life. I started one painting and one drawing but didn’t get very far. This was the drawing. It sat unfinished for months while I was still using.

The guy who originally wanted to commission a painting of his house wasn’t paying enough for any painting (even if, as agreed, I’d make whatever I wanted and just include his house somewhere in it). So I offered him a 10×10-inch drawing instead, with the plan that I’d finally finish this one, which had been sitting untouched for a year even after I got clean. He agreed, so that’s what I did.

It’s been a little bit of a rough month. Four of my last five dates got canceled for weather. Wind in Venice, an ice storm in Columbia, and now snow in Greensboro and Charlotte. It’s a pretty major financial hit, so I have to remind myself that I’m still doing VERY WELL.

I’ll be back in Florida next week for the Downtown Sarasota Festival of the Arts. Judging just by the exhibitor standards and the cost to participate, it seems like a more exclusive step-up from the other events I’ve done in the past. I’m excited to see if it draws a wealthier crowd – the kind of people who’ll drop four-figures, right then and there, for a painting they like. Up to this point, I haven’t sold any of my more expensive paintings at an event like this. I’ve sold smaller ones for a few hundred and I’ve met people who followed-up and later bought a more expensive painting but never on the spot.

I still want to get into more galleries (which is where I’ve historically sold my bigger, more expensive paintings) but if it turns out that I can find the right buyers at art festivals – THAT’S COOL TOO. I’ve currently got a bunch of applications in for similar events scattered across the southeast and midwest. Decisions on those applications start coming in next month.

I’m a little nervous that my work, at first glance, might turn off some jurors at “higher tier” festivals, but I have no doubts about the strength of my work. I’m optimistic that some jurors will recognize its value, even quickly flipping through applications on a screen and missing smaller details, like the more meaningful passages of text. Though I also know some will scoff at what they perceive as crude titles (without looking any deeper) or that some purists might say things like, “This guy is a writer masquerading as a painter. Real artists don’t need words to be evocative.”

They’re wrong, of course. People want to connect on a deeper level and language makes that possible. My text enhances my paintings in the same way lyrics enhance a song.

Does it sound like I’m GETTING DEFENSIVE? Defensive against a critic who (thus far) only exists in my head?

I mean, that’s pretty on brand for me, wouldn’t you say?

Arguing with ghosts is fun. I ALWAYS WIN.

Check the Events page for more info on everything I’ve got coming up. Prints of “Uncertainty over Unhappiness” are now available in the webstore.

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.

Free from Expectations, Shoes, and Toothpaste

December 12, 2024

I don’t like to paint stuff that’s not a canvas but I’l do it if you pay me enough money. For this bowl, I revisited the concept from my original painting, “Free From Shoes, Expectations, and Toothpaste.”

In my first run as an artist –  before everything fell apart and I took a 9-year hiatus from painting (and life) – I had a relatively easy time going from zero to sixty and making a living off my funny faces and scribbles.

But whether it’s ‘cause of the borderline personality disorder (or whatever else), even minor road bumps can leave me totally dejected.

It was April 2013 and I’d sold art at three events: the first successful; the next two not. It was the morning of my fourth and I was feeling very discouraged and like I shouldn’t even bother. I didn’t wanna get dressed, brush my teeth, and drive up to this thing only to feel totally rejected. 

It was then that I had an epiphany. I don’t have to get dressed or make myself presentable. Wearing the shorts I slept in, I could just hop in the car and – yes – set my shit up at the market, but just spend the day painting. Who cares if I look like a grimy little shit and no one buys anything? I’ll still be spending the day doing something I love. 

I decided to expect nothing – no sales, no positive attention – just nothing from anyone but myself. And I wouldn’t care how I looked or what people thought of me. I didn’t have to hide the parts of my body I was more self-conscious of by putting on a shirt or shoes. And I didn’t need to brush my teeth before I left. (I could just do that when I got home later). Not giving a shit about how I looked or whether or not I was gonna make any money felt awesome. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I felt FREE. Like this huge weight had been lifted from me.

When I ultimately did sell a ton of art that day, it was like a confirmation from the universe that I’d made the right choice – that this was the approach to take.

I’ve been going through my print inventory and pulling the stuff that doesn’t represent me as I’d like to be represented. A lot of those pieces still resonate with me; they just don’t look good. So I’m taking old concepts and putting them into new paintings and drawings.

That’s something I wouldn’t have done in the past. I thought that every piece of art was sort of a sacred artifact that should exist exactly as it did when I first made it. But reusing a concept doesn’t erase the old artwork. It just means it’s also a part of something new. I’ve always thought it was sort of hacky when artists reused concepts repeatedly but this isn’t that. It’s not that black and white. I can recycle an idea into something better and it doesn’t mean I’m some one-hit-wonder just playing the same song again and again. Upcycling a few old things that I love isn’t the same as churning out a thousand variations of my one “hit” piece.

Although – even if I was doing that: who gives a shit? As long as I’m doing what I wanna do – fuck everything else.

I’m glad I chose to upcycle the concept from “Free/Toothpaste” for this bowl I was commissioned to paint because it’s been a great reminder that I need to GET FREE. I need to not worry so much about all this shit and just make art. Whatever art I want. And it doesn’t matter if I reuse an old concept or it’s not THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER MADE. So long as it looks cool, is real, and meaningful, that’s enough. (Especially for a small, commissioned, piece of art).

Following what happened to me in 2015, I’m having trouble fully subscribing to my (once) guiding principle – that “everything works out exactly as it should.” But I think everything works out – at least a lot better – when I do. When I just have faith that things will work out, so long as I’m doing my best.

Although that probably still includes brushing my teeth periodically.

I’m calling this piece: “Free from Expectations, Shoes, and Toothpaste” and adding it to my inventory as a 4×6-inch print, as a replacement for “Free (From Shoes, Expectations, and Toothpaste),” which will no longer be available for purchase. I mean, if you really fucking love the old one for some reason, I still have a few prints, so hit me up and I’ll sell you one, but the new one is much cooler and easily available in the webstore.

And seeing as it’s December 12th, let’s go ahead and throw out a promo code for Christmas and Hanukkah. Use the promo code CH1320 to get 20% off any order, now through the end of Hanukkah (the last day of which is January 2nd). Cool? Coooooool.

As always, thanks for reading.

Run Free, Spit Fire, Yell at Clouds

October 6, 2024

“Run Free, Spit Fire, Yell at Clouds.” 1/11/18. Acrylic paint. 40×30″.

This painting was commissioned by a wonderfully supportive patron named Maura, as a tribute to her friend, Tommy, after his passing.

I knew Maura a little through emails but didn’t know Tommy at all. Honoring someone I didn’t know was a little intimidating. It felt like a big responsibility and I wanted to do a good job. 

After looking over his social media, I was able to paint little allusions to his interests, but I knew the text was gonna have to carry most of the weight. I needed something that would pay tribute to Tommy and – hopefully – bring some comfort to Maura and anyone else Tommy left behind that would see my work.

A week or so in, I saw a feature column about suicides and empathy that triggered something. I started journaling about it in the silver quadrant of the painting, but it didn’t really go anywhere. If it weren’t for the bit where I name a few friends, cut myself off, and instead say “WHOEVER READS THIS AND WANTS ME TO BE SAD WHEN THEY DIE” – and the fact that that gave me a shitty little smile – I probably would’ve painted over it. I’d mildly succeeded in amusing myself but certainly wasn’t meeting the bar I’d set to honor Tommy. I took another shot at it in the green quadrant:

This painting was commissioned for Tommy, who’s not with us anymore. Maura told me about this poem he liked. Asked if I could incorporate it somehow. The last part was his favorite. “I was a dog on a short chain and now there’s no chain.” I (think) I get it. It’s about being free. Which I can appreciate. I mean, I am a STRAY DOG. (Even if I sometimes consider trading that freedom for  the warmth of a home). Now - thinking of Tommy and the way his chain’s really been cut… Death is the ultimate freedom. It’s freedom from everything that fucks us up in life. AND it’s a home (of sorts) and…

That train of thought hit a wall. I was rambling again, lost, trying stumble into meaning.

What the fuck am I even talking about? I don’t know anything about anything. I wanna believe that Tommy and all the people we care about but aren’t here anymore - that they’re all free and okay and “singing loud” and safe and “warm” and… I don’t know. Maybe they are. Maybe it’s a nice thought at least. 
Fuck it. You know what? (You know where my fucking name comes from?) “Thrash life! No death!” And I think that’s the same sentiment that Tommy appreciated in that poem. Forget all that shit that comes with “the ultimate chain” or the freedom that comes in death. Tommy wanted to break the chains here on earth and LIVE FREE. So that’s what we ought to do and that’s what I wanna focus on. I wanna RUN FREE, SPIT FIRE, YELL AT CLOUDS, sing dumb songs, and thrash life. This one’s for you, Tommy. I hope you’re out there, fucking shit up in the ether.

It’s been six years since I painted “Run Free” and wrote those passages. Looking back at it today as I finally write a statement to accompany the painting, I can’t help but think of my friend, Steph, who just died. I didn’t cry right when I found out she was gone, but I did cry when I woke up the next morning, thinking about how trapped and hopeless she must have felt. We’d not been in regular contact for a while but she was important enough to me that – had I known how close to the edge she was – I’d have told her, “If you don’t want to go back to Jacksonville – fuck it – come here. You can stay with me. Or just try something – anything – different from what you’re doing now.

Could I have fixed her? No. But we could’ve spent time together. We could’ve laughed. And maybe she’d have seen that things weren’t so bad outside of the shitty little world she’d constructed around herself back in New Orleans. Maybe she’d have found it in her to build something new.

Life is hard enough for anyone, but when you don’t believe in anything and you’re miserable, it’s pretty tough to justify not killing yourself via overdose (intentional or not) – or even arguing to a suicidal friend that they wouldn’t be better off dead. But life can also be pretty great every now and then. Being in love. Genuine, caught-off-guard laughter. Even just seeing something that reminds you of someone you care about. Mischief. PUNK ROCK. Setting a goal and meeting or exceeding it. Making something that’s meaningful to you and then OTHER PEOPLE TELLING YOU IT’S ALSO MEANINGFUL TO THEM. Shit – last night I posted my first TikTok video that actually seemed to get some attention from strangers who are now following me. 

Some of these things (okay – mostly that last one) are pretty trivial. But they’re also ENERGIZING. They FEEL GOOD. Even with friends dying, and some girl breaking my stupid fucking heart, and feeling lonely (and like a 38 year-old fuck-up who’s starting from scratch again, barely able to support himself, AND (so far) NOT SELLING ANYWHERE NEAR AS MANY PRINTS FROM MY FRESHLY LAUNCHED WEBSTORE AS I’D HOPED). 

If we don’t know what the alternative is – and if it may well be simply ceasing to exist, why not try to make the most of the time we do have? What do we have to lose? 

And what can we do to honor the people we’ve lost?

Not much. But we can live in ways that would make them smile if they could only see us. And maybe they can. (Probably they can’t). But LET’S JUST SAY THEY CAN and do it anyway. If nothing else, it’ll make it easier for us to keep going. And we might as well. Those little moments and good feelings are worth living for.

Being a commission, this painting is already sold, but 16×12-inch prints are available (and BEAUTIFUL) in my new webstore. And if you’d like to commission your very own original painting, I would (of course) love to hear from you.

Your support (sharing/reposting, buying, whatever) means everything to me. Thanks for reading.

What Makes Life Feel Worth Living

July 1, 2024

“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.

Every Song Sounds Like the Last One

December 22, 2015

When I was first forced to participate in “expressive art therapy group” while in inpatient treatment, I thought it was a joke. “I can’t keep a needle out of my arm and I’m fucking dying and you want me to color?? You’ve gotta be kidding me.” But once I started to actually put a little bit of effort into it – and sharing with the group what I had made and the reasons I made the choices that I had – I got my first little taste of self-esteem. People liked my art and they thought my explanations were funny and insightful. It made me feel good about myself. Eventually, art became something I really enjoyed and – later – my primary occupation. Not only did it save my life but it’s my primary tool in maintaining emotional balance and it pays my bills and enables me to spend most of my time doing what I love most: making more art.

A lot of my work looks like a lot of my other work. I have a distinct style and I don’t really stray outside of the box too often. I’ve tried to experiment here and there but – when I do – I’m usually not too happy with the results. It’s only when I get back to doing what I love (drawing/painting funny faces with bright colors) that I start to feel better.

In September of 2014, my friend Paul paid me to draw something for him. He didn’t give me any instructions but I decided to visit a record he’d released when he first started his label, Radius Records, for a bit of inspiration. The lyric that popped out at me was from The Smoking Popes’ “Theme From ‘Cheerleader’”: “Every song sounds like the last one.” It made me think about how my art is all pretty much the same but how I’m okay with that. Just like how almost all of the songs I like (in the fairly rigid genre of pop punk) are all essentially the same. It reminded me of something I’ve often said when talking about music: “I don’t care about innovation or breaking new ground. A band can do the same thing over and over again; what’s important is that they do it well.”

It’s the same with my art. It doesn’t matter if I do the same trick again and again; so long as I do it well.

That’s what was on my mind when I did this. That and the fact that I had come to like my own art enough to stand behind it in spite of any criticism – but that I was still grateful to have fans and friends, like Paul, that liked and supported what I do. I wrote just a little bit about it on the left side of the drawing.

Every time I pick up a pen, a brush, [whatever], I risk failure, risk repeating myself. I’m not afraid. I like what I like, do what I do, and every time I pick up, I’m saying so. I believe in myself. But I didn’t always. Other people had to believe in me first. And if they didn’t continue to… I don’t know that I’d be able to either.

It’s taken me more than a year to write out the statement for this piece. Thanks for your patience, Paul!

"Every Song Sounds Like the Last One." 9/28/14. Ink. 14x11".
“Every Song Sounds Like the Last One.” 9/28/14. Ink. 14×11″.

 

On an unrelated note, my second NPR story of 2015 aired a few days ago, this time courtesy of Ryan Benk and the Jacksonville affiliate, WJCT. You can read or listen to it on their website.

Bleed Blue / last week / Chicago now

July 11, 2014

"Bleed Blue Tattoo." 7/5/14. Ink. 11x14".
“Bleed Blue Tattoo.” 7/5/14. Ink. 11×14″.

With all the tattooing I’ve been doing myself lately, it kind of makes sense that I’d do some work for an actual tattoo shop. (Or maybe not?) In any case, this commission came in two nights before my own tattoo career started. On my way to Minneapolis for Cleveland Bound Death Sentence, I stopped in Lexington. My buddy, Chris, works for Bleed Blue Tattoo and, while we were there, I met the shop’s owner, Tommy. Being the self-promoting little fuckshit that I am, I (of course!) told him about my artwork.  He was cool enough to  commission me to design a shirt for Bleed Blue right then and there. He was also cool enough to tell me I could do whatever I wanted – so I did, right down to the sort of overly-personal text that I put in virtually all of my pieces. The only real guideline I gave myself was a limited color palette since  I knew that – when it comes to silkscreens – more colors means higher printing costs.

The text says: “I am an anxious mess of a human being but I’ve got high hopes once Mercury’s no longer in retrograde. Maybe I’ll start getting laid again.” I wrote that the night I started the piece in St. Louis. By the time I finished it a couple days later in Minneapolis, Mercury was no longer in retrograde and I had started getting laid again. Isn’t it nice when stories have a happy ending?

As if all that weren’t great enough, check out the week I just had, selling and making art at punk shows around the midwest:

June 29: Lexington, KY w/ Rational Anthem.
June 30: Cincinnati, OH w/ Masked Intruder, The Dopamines, Direct Hit!, and The Priceduifkes.
July 1: Bloomington, IN w/ Rational Anthem and The Razor Ramones.
July 2: St. Louis w/ Masked Intruder, The Humanoids, Direct Hit!, and The Priceduifkes.
July 3: Madison, WI w/ The Transgressions, Rational Anthem, Lipstick Homicide, and Spruce Bringsteen.
July 4: Minneapolis, MN w/ Dillinger Four, The Brokedowns, Masked Intruder, Direct Hit!, The Priceduifkes, and Canadian Rifle.
July 5: Minneapolis, w/ Dillinger Four and Night Birds.

Anyway, for now, I’m in Chicago (where I’ll probably remain for most of the summer). Then again, have I ever stuck with a plan? Either way, shit’s cool right now and I’m excited about everything I’ve got in the works. And I’ve got a bunch of new pieces that I’ll add to the site soon so… Cool.

Here are some tunes from some of the bands that have been rad enough to host me lately:


“25 to Life” by Masked Intruder


“Thinkin’ ‘Bout Ya” by Rational Anthem

“Snickers or Reese’s” by Direct Hit!


“Captain, We’re Drinking” by The Priceduifkes

Music video for “Wizard Symptoms” by The Brokedowns

“Like Sprewells on a Wheelchair” by Dillinger Four


“Moody’s Point” by Lipstick Homicide


“Wasteoid” (originally by The Transgressions but performed here) by Spruce Bringsteen (that’s a two in one)!

TEN YEARS LATER UPDATE!?!? (December 2024):

I don’t think Bleed Blue ever actually printed these shirts so I went ahead and kinda removed their affiliation and made it wholly my own. You can buy a print of the new version in the webstore.

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