D.L.A.T.Y.Y.C.K.Y.Y.T.C. | 5-24-2026 | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 24 x 30 in
I thought I’d be living at Tranquil Shores for at least another two months but when I went into the clinical office that morning, I found out I only had ten days before my discharge.
I felt shattered. Caught completely off-guard. I walked back to the residential property alone and remembered a conversation I’d had with my sister 18 months earlier.
I’d just been released from the hospital, following an attempted overdose. “You can’t kill yourself, Sam. That’s so selfish,” she told me.
Fuck you, I thought. “You know what’s really selfish, Racey? 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.”
You wouldn’t be reading this right now if my life hadn’t EVENTUALLY IMPROVED, but – back then – my life hurt. Every day was painful. I felt isolated, hopelessly addicted to heroin, and lost. I could see no way out. It didn’t have to be that way, but I didn’t yet have the emotional tools I needed to do anything about it.
While I managed to turn my life around, some people suffer for decades on end. And as bitter and angry as I was when Racey said that to me, I’m still not sure we owe it to anyone else to stay stuck in a life like that.
That said – unless you’re in chronic pain or suffering from debilitating, UNABATING mental illness, you probably shouldn’t kill yourself. Not unless you’ve exhausted ALL other options. Because – as dark and miserable as life can be (and BELIEVE ME, I KNOW), it can also be pretty great.
If you’re truly ready to die, truly ready to give up on everything, then you’ve got nothing left to lose. So – before you kill yourself – lose it. Blow up your life before ending it. Choose uncertainty over unhappiness. Suicide is usually the consequence of feeling trapped. But you’re not trapped.
End the relationship. Quit your job. Break the lease. Disconnect your phone. Move across the country. Do whatever it takes to get out of your rut.
In my admittedly limited experience, when I make choices that demonstrate love (for myself and for others), things have a way of working out.
If all of this sounds impossible, I assure you: it’s easier than you think. If it sounds terrifying, do it anyway.
Worst case scenario: you were right, nothing gets better, and suicide is still an option.
DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE.
But it’s not a very good option.
Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
This painting is what I call an UPCYCLE. I took the concept from one of my very early paintings and used it for this new one. The one I’m working on now is gonna be another one.
ON A RELATED NOTE, I’ve got three fairly recent paintings that I decided weren’t quite good enough. They were CLOSE but not quite. In the past, I believed in leaving each painting as a snapshot of where I was at right when I made it. Fuck that. I don’t wanna hang or sell something I’m not 100% proud of and happy with. So I went back to work on those three paintings and now I’m even more excited about them than I was when they were brand new.
Poor Forever | 10/12/25* | acrylic on canvas | 36x36"
Initially painted from August 31 to October 12, 2025, in Durham, NC; Augusta and Savannah, GA; and Oviedo, Largo, St Petersburg, and Lakeland, FL. Revisions / more painting in May 2026, in Louisville, KY.
Read about it in my blog entry for November 19, 2025.
Buy a signed, limited-edition 12x12" print in the webstore.
You'll Miss Me When I'm Gone (and Other Lies): The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of "Why Don't You Love Me Anymore?" and "Wah Wah Wah"
8/30/25* | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 48 x 36 in
Painted in Tampa, St Petersburg, and Bradenton, FL; Savannah, GA; Columbia, SC; and Greensboro, NC, between June 27 and August 30, 2025. Additional text added in Tampa, FL and Spartanburg, SC on November 7 and 26, 2025.
Read its statement in the blog entry for November 24, 2025.
Signed limited-edition 16x12” prints may be available for purchase in the webstore.
Availability and prices of original paintings, giclées, and custom prints upon request.
The Boy Nobody Wanted Wins the Super Bowl
7/26/24* | acrylics and pigment ink on canvas | 36 x 36 in
Painted in Sarasota, FL between July 7 and 26, 2024. Additional work later done in Durham, NC on May 13, 2026.
Read its statement in the blog entry for July 31, 2024.
Signed limited-edition 12x12” prints may be available for purchase in the webstore.
Availability and prices of original paintings, giclées, and custom prints upon request.
DLATYYCKYYTC is so titled as a nod to IYDKMRNIGE. I can rattle off either acronym LIKE IT’S NOTHIN’. (Yes, I’ve practiced).
“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.
You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone (and Other Lies): The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah” | 13 May 2026* | acrylic on canvas | 48×36″
It’s the morning of my birthday, I’m in a tiff with my friends, and – even though I’m generally having a good time right now – that conflict is adding a dark undercurrent to my feelings.
I just had a moment – and the feeling that I miss having a person. That one person who I can share everything with. I thought about how my last person just flew across the country to go into rehab again. And then I started thinking about nurturingsick relationships, which brought me a sinister kinda delight. And THEN it occurred to me that I could shoot up today and no one would ever know. And I doubt I will, but I still HAD THE THOUGHT.
It’s around 5pm now and Brandon texted to ask if I’m coming over. (Not when, but if). I asked about THE PUMPKIN at the heart of the embarrassingly petty conflict between us.
He didn’t call and say: “Let’s not stress it, it’s your birthday, let’s just have a good time.” He texted back: “If you wanna argue about it, maybe it wouldn’t be a good birthday dinner.”
So I just thumbs-upped that shit and I’m not going. I’m not feeling anything like DEEP DESPAIR, but I am feeling a little like “fuck everyone else in the world.” I leave town soon so now it’ll be at least 5 weeks before I even have a chance to see Brandon and Amanda again.
Those two are my best friends. They took me in when I was at my worst and helped me get my life together when everyone else told them not to take a chance on me. Without them, I wouldn’t be making art or building a career. I wouldn’t have any reason to leave town for 5 weeks.
But knowing they haven’t realized they just missed their last chance to see me until December – that gives me a sinister kinda satisfaction too. I’m PUNISHING THEM.
This painting’s not about going away for 5 weeks. Its title (LIKE ALL GOOD TITLES) is a suicide threat. I’m not even 5% of the way to feeling suicidal BUT I STILL ENJOY THE SENTIMENT.
Being dead so EVERYONE CAN FEEL BAD ABOUT THE HORRIBLE INJUSTICES THEY INFLICTED UPON ME is a nice fantasy. Emphasis on “fantasy.” No one gives a shit and I’m a fucking crybaby.
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone?” I mean – sure, sort of. But not really. People move on.
The small text on the book’s cover is: The exciting new bestseller from the acclaimed author of “Why Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” and “Wah Wah Wah.” I wrote it with my ex in mind. She says she loves me but – even before she flew off to rehab – she wasn’t with me. I don’t even know that I wanted her to be, but I did want her to want to (be with me).
That’s dumb ego shit. I need to drop it. All the “sinister” stuff – that’s dumb too, but I ENJOY IT SO MUCH. And it might be an inexplicable part of who I am. I’m sort of okay with that because I think it’s a coping mechanism and – so far as coping mechanisms go – I’ve had worse.
You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone was painted from 27 June 2025 through 30 August 2025, with additions on 4 and 18 November 2025, and major revisions on 13 May 2026.
I’ve historically had the policy that once a painting is finished, it is locked in amber as a snapshot of where I was as a person (and an artist) at that moment in time. But I’ve been thinking more seriously about my career lately and want all of my work to be of the highest caliber. After this painting was finished, I wrote long journal entries that I transcribed onto the canvas and used as the foundation for this statement. Months later, I repainted 15-20% of the canvas and cut most of the journals from the statement. They were PRETTY TRIVIAL and I no longer think my work needs embarrassingly specific details to be interesting. My standards for color, composition, and expressivity, on the other hand… KEEP RISING.
I’ve been seriously killing it this month and I’m super excited. I finished My “Everything 2.0” painting, got it photographed, sold, made prints (including a huge 3×3′ giclée on canvas), sold a bunch, and am really excited about the new painting I started on Saturday. I have lots of events coming up that I’m looking forward to and this last month’s events have all gone really well. (Not to be CRASS but – if I did as well every month as I’ve done in March, I’d be SET).
Anyway, the statement for this painting is literally just a transcript of the text that’s scattered across the canvas. I’m a little embarrassed to post it because the person that I wrote about may very well read it but hopefully she’ll not be too weirded out and know that it’s not a big deal.
More importantly, there’s something that I allude to several times and dance around before finally just OUTRIGHT saying what it is. It’s the thing that’s had the biggest impact on my adult life and the thing that I’m most scared to ever acknowledge. But it influences just about EVERY THING THAT I DO and – for that reason – I’m proud of myself for making art that does explicitly acknowledge it. In a sense, any time I make something that doesn’t reference that event, it’s a little bit dishonest. Because it’s always on my mind. It seeps into everything. So while it’s totally possible that someone reading this will be learning about it for the first time and will consequently make negative judgments about me, I feel like I’m doing the right thing by talking about it. My art’s always been all about honesty and vulnerability. If I want to stay true to that, I can’t be constantly leaving out of my work this thing that has so much power over me. I need to be transparent and just hope that I’ve shown the world enough of my heart for people to know that I am not someone who hurts people. I’m a sensitive little diaper baby who worries about even annoying other people. (In that spirit, let me also throw out a TRIGGER WARNING right up front). But the last thing I would ever do is anything to intentionally and seriously harm another human being.
With that said, here’s my newest painting and the text written into it…
“Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again)” 3/16/25. Acrylic paint and pigment ink. 40×40″.
This is the longest I’ve ever gone without falling in love. I think it’s probably because I’m old and NOT CUTE ANYMORE (so there are fewer girls interested-in-me for me to fall in love with). I’m also definitely not as BOLD as I once was though. A big part of that is the TRAUMA of what happened in summer 2015. But I DIGRESS…
It could also be that – I’ve convinced myself my next girlfriend needs to be someone who does things (like me). Someone actively creative and inspiring, with things in her life that she’s passionate about. And then of course – because I’m broken – she also has to look a certain way. Because I need people to see me as someone who gets the girl everyone else wants. That NARROWS THE POOL.
But last month, I met such a girl. I was impressed, (I think) genuinely interested, and it seemed like maybe she might kinda like me too. (She gave me her phone number (unprompted) when she had no reason to give me her phone number). For a minute, it seemed like it might-maybe, could-potentially be a thing, but I never tested it. I never said anything direct or even flirty enough to get a response that I could gauge. And then I stopped interacting ‘cause my feelings were hurt by something that probably shouldn’t have hurt my feelings in the first place. But I figured if there were anything there, she’d find a way to let me know. But she didn’t.
The prints I sell of my drawing “Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should” are – I don’t want to sell them anymore. The photograph from which they’re made is no good because I took it before I knew what I was doing. But that print sells a lot so I wanted a replacement.
I started a new drawing based on the original but wasn’t happy. I changed the caption to “Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should – EXCEPT FOR THIS.” That didn’t make it feel any better.
The night I met the girl, I’d just finished the RV and was really proud of it. I had the notion in my head that I wanted to show it to her, but it’d have been weird to ask this girl I’d just met to (1) leave an event, (2) walk down the dark street, and (3) follow me into my vehicle/home. But then, at the end of the night, just as I finished packing up and was prepared to drive off, there she was on the sidewalk, gesturing at me like, “hey – what’s this?” I asked her if she wanted to come in and see, she did, and she wound up hanging out/talking for at least 30 minutes (even though it was 1am and we both needed to get going).
She told me she believes everything works out exactly as it should, even when she can’t see how. When she can’t see “the full picture” yet, she said that’s okay because she will eventually – so she just has faith in the meantime.
I’ve been reminding myself of that lately but it’s a challenge. When I first got out of rehab, started as an artist, and drew the original “EWOEaIS,” I was in a wild place spiritually. I’d finally let go of my DOGMATIC NIHILISM and “nothing fucking matters” attitude and was in the unfamiliar territory of gratitude and faith – not [faith] in anything specific but just generally. My hostility toward religion was even gone and I had this kinda hippy-dippy, go-with-the-flow, everything-is-cool-for-everyone sorta mentality.
That faded over time (especially after summer 2015) and my old “nothing matters”/“I don’t believe in anything” mindset returned to fill the gap.
As that girl and I texted over the next week or so, I had a thought: “Fuck that drawing; I should make my big work-in-progress painting into my new ‘Everything Works Out’ [and incorporate the conversation we’d had].” That was a game changer. The painting needed direction, this felt like the right one, and I figured Rick (to whom it was pre-sold) would like it. But it needed an update to be real and honest because I no longer believe everything works out exactly as it should.
“Everything Works Out Exactly as It Should (is Something I’ve Been Trying to Get Myself to Believe Again).”
Which is absolutely, painfully true.
It’s really, really hard for me to imagine what good could ever come from that incident in summer 2015. (And let’s just say it: I was accused of a rape that I didn’t do).
Nothing’s been the same since. It’s been much worse. It took 9 years for me to work up the courage to even try to have a life again. In those years, I thoroughly believed I’d never again be as happy or successful as I had been before the accusation. And I’m still not sure that’s wrong. But I’m trying very hard to believe (and prove) otherwise. I’m working to rebuild my art career and livelihood and – ever since my last relationship fell apart and I got clean – I’m trying to find love again.
So far, the first part’s going better than the second. Not well enough that I’m satisfied but well enough that I probably should be. (At least considering how little time I’ve been back at it). With regard to both though, I’m hopeful. I don’t believe they’ll work out, but I’m pretty sure they won’t if I’m not giving it my all. So that’s what I’ve been doing.
Maybe that’s why I met that girl: just to hear her tell me that just because I can’t SEE how everything will work out – that doesn’t mean that it won’t.
Maybe the partnership and career I’ll have someday will only be possible because of what I went through ten years ago. It’s tough to envision, but I’d like to believe it.
That’s where the painting’s text ends. For anyone that’s just now learning about what I went through ten years ago, I hope you don’t now think I’m A VIOLENT SCUMBAG and do, in fact, believe me when I say that (as rare as they may be) false accusations do happen. I obviously wasn’t convicted of anything but it was still enough to shatter me. Maybe that’s because I’m so sensitive and maybe I let it effect me more than I should have, but… it really has taken all the strength I can muster to even be writing something like this right now. To even be going out in public like I have been. I’m pretty terrified to even be typing these words right now. It’s not something I want to publicize because I still worry that there are people out there who know nothing about what really happened but will still try to use it to hurt me.
I could probably ramble on about this forever, so I’m gonna cut myself off here. On a more positive note, I’ve got a handful of events scheduled in the Sarasota and Tampa areas (and one in Lakeland this weekend) and I’ll be regularly adding more, so be sure to keep an eye on the Events page.
And (of course) if you’d like to buy a print of this painting, you can find it in my webstore. The original painting is already sold but (like I said) I do have a 3×3′ giclée on canvas for sale, so reach out if you’re interested in that. It’s NINE TIMES BIGGER than the 12×12″ prints and looks AWESOME.
Thank you for your time, attention, and consideration. I know what it’s like to have lost everything, I’m so grateful for what I’ve been able to get back so far, and I know that none it would be possible without your support. It really does mean the world to me.
If you’re not already, follow me on TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook for more regular updates! And if you missed it, check out the entry I just posted YESTERDAY for my other new painting: “Motivation (Will Work for Food (maybe) / Will Beat Off on Live Webfeed For Perfect Love and Acceptance).”
Revisiting “Adventures Per Minute,” I felt compelled to write an addendum because I don’t love the way that it ends. After writing much of it though, I realized that these were words I’ve had in my head for years, as I continually postponed writing my statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From.” Rather than simply tack on to a ten year-old blog entry though, I decided to give this its own space. Here it is.
APM addendum
I’m very tempted to remove (or at least change) these last two paragraphs [which are about a sexual experience involving some very aggressive role-playing]. That feels dishonest though. It would be disingenuous. Because I don’t actually think there’s anything wrong with them; I’m just afraid of how they might influence strangers’ perception of me. And I shouldn’t let that corrupt or influence my art.
I would never actually sexually assault or hurt someone, nor would I get off on it. It would make me physically sick. There’s a difference between playing pretend and reality.
I’ve always felt confident that my willingness to share all the darkest, most private parts of my self (through my art and writing) would be all the evidence anyone would need to know exactly what kind of person I am. Sometimes emotionally erratic, occasionally petty or spiteful but – above all – deeply sensitive, empathetic, and caring. Vulnerable to depression and hopelessness, but – just as often – filled with joy and light, ridiculously silly, generally optimistic, and too trusting for my own good.
If there are people in the world who want to believe otherwise about me, that’s their business – not mine – and I can’t let my fear paralyze me. Not anymore. I already lost nearly eight years of my life to that. It’s time to be brave and that means living (as I did back when I made “Adeventures Per Minute”) with my whole truth. Sharing everything, hiding nothing. That’s what made my work powerful (and popular) in the first place – even if it did eventually hurt me.
As mentioned up top, it occurs to me that much of what I just wrote is part of what I’ve been putting off as I continue delaying the writing of my statement for “Things You Can’t Come Back From.” It’s been six months now since I’ve been clean and making art again, and I’m starting to feel a little steadier. I recently wrote the statement for “Sorry for Overdosing in Your Bathroom” (another one I’d been putting off for similar reasons). But “Things You Can’t” is on a whole other level. That painting is about the single most traumatic episode of my life. I’m committed to finally writing its statement soon. Absolutely before the year’s end. (I will tell the whole story). In any case, I really only mention this (1) as explanation for why this addendum kind of dances around something without fully addressing it; and (2) for the very trivial reason of: Please don’t be annoyed with me if some of what you’ve just read gets repeated, whenever I do write/publish the blog entry for “Things You Can’t.”
In closing, a quick acknowledgment: I want to thank everyone who’s stuck with me. Not only through the years of relapse and inactivity, but through that life-shattering event in 2015. I won’t even try to describe the nightmare of that experience; just know that your trust in me and your continued support means more than I could ever put into words. I did not get it from everyone. Without you, there’s not the slightest chance that I would still be breathing today.
“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.
“I Could Never Love Anyone More Than i Hate Myself .” 4/30/15. Acrylic paint. 36×36″.
For as much as I talk and write about Wallis, I’ve never really shared the full story of how we first came together. I’ll save the cute elements of the story for later and just give you the important part that hasn’t seemed relevant until now.
When I met Wallis, she was actively addicted to heroin. She was trying to not be on heroin but (like most addicts) she was finding that to be a little tougher than she could handle. We hit it off really quickly but I told her on our very first night together that I couldn’t be around that sort of thing. I told her that if she wanted to continue spending time with me, she couldn’t be using drugs. (I’m way too fucking fragile to not relapse if a pretty girl has a needle and a bag of dope to share with me). She told me she didn’t wanna use. I invited her to go with me on a road trip for a week – up to Illinois and back.
In the course of that trip, we fell in love. Which was a problem because it meant we needed to figure out what we were gonna do to keep her from going back to heroin once we got back to Jacksonville. We decided that she’d need to quit the strip club and get another job (nobody can stay off drugs in that environment – no addict anyway). I told her I’d cover her (financially) ’til she got a new job and then – when it was time for me to leave Jacksonville – she’d quit her new job and come with me. Sound familiar? I did for Wallis the same thing I had done for my best friend, Chris, a year prior. I brought her out on the road with me to keep her off drugs. To show her another kind of life. Like Chris had done, in exchange for “all expenses paid” she’d just help me with my set-up, selling art, whatever. (And like Chris, it pretty much worked. She never used once; not while traveling with me anyway).
When we left Jacksonville, it was for Minneapolis, where I was to be featured in a gallery exhibit. Halfway through the exhibition’s run, we returned to Jacksonville for a week, so I could make CRAZY MONEY at One Spark. On the drive down, Wallis started talking about going to see old friends – friends that she had, historically, used drugs with. I told her that this was a terrible idea. She argued that I needed to have faith in her. I responded that I’d heard that same exact sentence and had this same exact conversation many, many times in the past (with another girl) and that I knew perfectly well how this was gonna end. I told her that if she wasn’t willing to forego the reunion (and the inevitable relapse that’d come with it) that I couldn’t be her boyfriend anymore. One Spark was going to be an incredibly important week for me financially and I didn’t wanna fuck it up by spending the whole time worried about whether Wallis was safe.
She said okay (as in “okay, then you don’t need to be my boyfriend anymore“). There was no hostility or drama beyond that but when we got to Jacksonville, we went our separate ways. Wallis relapsed that very first night (though she wouldn’t tell me until later), but called me the next morning and spent the rest of the week by my side like a lost puppy. On the night before I was to return to Minneapolis, she broke down crying, told me she had fucked up, and that she still wanted to be with me.
I first had the thought years and years ago – upon hearing Rivethead’s “In My Heart a Warehouse Burns For You.” The last lyric in the song is “I love you just as much as I hate the man.” I’m not exactly the biggest fan of cops or authority figures of any kind but when I’m really fired up and full of hate, there’s only one target it’s ever directed at: me. I still listen to that record (The Cheap Wine of Youth) all the time so the idea of captioning a painting with “I love you just as much as I hate myself” had occurred to me on a couple occasions but I didn’t wanna be derivative.
Then, when I bought Pretty Boy Thorson’s An Uneasy Peace (the final song of which is called “I Love You Even More Than I Hate Myself”) I had a bit of a god dammit moment. That should’ve been mine! The song’s awesome and it doesn’t matter that the lyric is similar to another.
I started thinking about it though – that line – and whether or not it was actually true (for me). I was dating Wallis and I absolutely loved her but did I love her more than I hated myself? I wasn’t really sure. I decided that sometimes I’m afraid that I could never love anyone more than I hate myself. After all, we had weathered the storm of her relapse but I was sabotaging our relationship bit by bit with my low self-esteem [and cheating]. I wrote about some of that anxiety in the bottom-right corner of the painting:
It’s so much harder to travel with a second person. Staying with friends feels like a much bigger imposition and I can’t stay with girls I meet. That’s probably the hardest part. But I love Wallis. (And I really like fucking her). And I think she needs me. I tried to leave her in Jacksonville but it didn’t work out. I hope she’s with me because she really loves me and not just ‘cause she’s scared to go back to “real life.” It if doesn’t work out, it’s probably gonna be because I can’t stop thinking about fucking other girls, which I know hurts her (and is really so selfish and dumb - and even mean - on my part) but really has nothing to do with her. (She’s so fucking hot and sexy and cute and beautiful). It’s just my insecurity and my compulsion to fuck every pretty girl, to prove to the world (and myself) just how fucking wonderful and desirable I am. It’s not helping that girls are throwing themselves at me these days. But I know (or think) that shit won’t make me happy. And in the end, I’m just gonna want someone to love me and I love Wallis.
There’s another, shorter string of text higher up in the painting, similarly inspired by punk rock: “I was listening to that Gateway District song where they sing, ‘I’m always falling way behind and you go on and on and on.’ If only I knew someone like that. Maybe I’d have someone to look to. Everybody I know is struggling. Everyone I know is as hopeless as I am. (Or worse).”
There’s a brighter, happier pair of sentences in the top-left corner – the product of a moment when everything was right in the world. Amazing sex with Wallis and I’m driving to the gallery showcasing my art while listening to “Another Way Out of Here” by The Murderburgers. The thought occurred to me that “nothing in this world makes me happier than an energetic, upbeat song about suicide.” I gave it a second thought. Is that true?I concluded, “Except (maybe) hitting girls in the face during sex.” I smiled. That’s pretty funny. I’m pretty fucked up. The things that I enjoy are – well – a little odd. This was all well and good at the time. I posted a close-up of that part of the painting online and it was met with positive feedback and just a little bit of “Oh, Sam…” But before I even got the chance to write the statement for this painting (as I am now), that photograph – that caption – would make the rounds on the internet elsewhere and garner a very different kind of response.
You see, when I wrote that, it was about sex with Wallis. Sex which includes light, consensual, fake-violence (or whatever the fuck you wanna call it). Wallis likes getting slapped in the face during sex. And I like doing it. Win-win, right? Well, yeah – until you get accused of a violent rape and the media picks up on the story and uses your art to support the idea that you’re the kind of person capable of violently raping a nineteen year-old girl you just met.
Sitting in jail, I wondered how I was going to break the news to my friends and fans that I had been accused of this horrible fucking crime. I bailed out, Chris Spillane picked me up, and after ten minutes of discussion he tells me, “There’s one more thing we’ve gotta talk about, Sam. The publicity on this story is not good right now.” Publicity? This story? “What the fuck are you talking about?” I googled my name and discovered that I didn’t need to worry about breaking this news to anyone. Some reporter knew or figured out who I was, wrote an article about me complete with images of my art (like the “hitting girls in the face” one) and everyone else picked it up and ran with it. Suddenly, strangers on the internet were talking about how I was the kind of person who PUNCHES girls in the face. I was a scumbag and I was definitely guilty. What the fuck? I’ve never punched a girl in the face! I slap! Playfully! And only with girls that WANT me to!
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that it was incredibly easy to paint me as some kind of violent sexual deviant who had finally gone off the rails and just started violently raping people. Freedom of expression has its fucking consequences apparently. The charges against me have since been dismissed by a judge who (after hearing all of the prosecution’s evidence and the girl’s testimony) ruled that there was no probable cause to believe that any crime had been committed but the evidence in the case isn’t all public yet and I’m still having to deal with (well-meaning) assholes who think I deserve to be castrated for something I never did. At the time of this writing, this is all still incredibly recent so I’m still working out exactly how a person does deal with something like that. (I’ll let you know when I figure it out).
Flashback to five months before that nightmare though – back to when I was still working on this painting (that’d later incriminate me in the court of public opinion). I wrote that I was feeling:
“stuck in a rut. This spot [on the street] isn’t super profitable [for selling prints]. I don’t even wanna write about what else is going on. I don’t want to muddle up this painting that I’m not even happy with. My little sister is killing herself and today I blocked her phone number because I’m tired of her asking for help, not taking my advice, and then texting me updates on her self-destruction that she knows will just upset me.
I really need the validation of some sales to cheer me up today. If I make less than $100 today, I’m gonna feel super depressed.”
And then – to remind myself what a dipshit I am for worrying about how much I make in one particular day, I added: “I’ve made $7,000 this month.” True as it was, it didn’t really help me feel any better in that moment. I continued writing – about an interaction I had with a guy who stopped to watch me paint:
“Someone asked me yesterday if I really hate myself and why. I had a hard time articulating it [the way that I feel sometimes]. He said he thinks I’m not as unhappy as I let on. I’d do a much better job explaining it to him today: I’M UGLY, PALE, OUTTA SHAPE, MEAN, SHITTY, POOR, FEARFUL, AND IN A CONSTANT STATE OF STARVATION FOR VALIDATION.”
Reading that now, remembering that day – it’s kinda scary. Everything in my life was going so well and I still had this monster inside me, gnawing at my insides, telling me that everything was awful. That I was awful. I’m really grateful that I don’t feel that way about myself all the time. Arguably, my life is way more fucked up now (on account of the VIOLENT RAPE ACCUSATION) but – I don’t know – I feel better today. Maybe it’s because I’ve had to fight this awful thing. Maybe it’s because I’ve had to become stronger. Maybe it’s because enough other people hate me now that I can take a break on the self-loathing. I don’t know. I’m not sure. But after separating in late-June and spending two months mostly apart, Wallis and I are back together full-time. We’re living together in an apartment in Chicago and it’s been really great. And you know what? I love her WAY more than I hate myself. Not just ‘cause I’m not hating myself so much right now but… This girl… After all we’ve been through. After all I’ve done for her and all she’s done for me… Words are insufficient to express my gratitude, affection, and love for her. I’m probably gonna marry her.
And you know what? When it comes to “falling way behind” versus “going on and on and on,” maybe I do a little more of the latter than I allow myself to recognize sometimes. Maybe I do a lot more of it.
HAPPY ENDING.
“I Love You Even More” by Pretty Boy Thorson & The Falling Angels
“Another Way Out of Here” by The Murderburgers
“Waves and Cars” by The Gateway District
“In My Heart a Warehouse Burns For You” by Rivethead
“I Could Never Love Anyone More Than I Hate Myself” is now up in the webstore.
