Tola’s Approach to Demons

August 23, 2013

"Tola's Approach to Demons." 7/21/13. Acrylic paint and ink. 16x20".
“Tola’s Approach to Demons.” 7/21/13. Acrylic paint and ink. 16×20″.

The text at upper left:
“That was amazing,” Vincent said. “How do you feel?”
“Like garbage.”
I went back out on the dock with Tola. We sat out there for the rest of the night.
“I don’t really mind demons,” he told me. “So long as they’re not actively trying to fuck my shit up, I just keep my distance and everything is cool.”

—–

Tola had been drinking and I don’t know exactly what he meant when he said “demons,” but it made sense to me either way. Everything he said to me that night made a lot of sense. And meant a lot to me. That conversation was exactly what I needed that night.

I don’t believe in evil. I don’t believe that there’s such a thing as bad people. I have to think that way ’cause if I’m wrong, then I’m most certainly evil – I’m definitely a bad person.

But I try really hard. So I give other people the benefit of the doubt. If someone does something fucked up, I choose to believe that they’re doing their best. (Their best just happens to be pretty terrible relative to average/acceptable standards). I try to keep that in mind whether we’re talking about some asshole on the sidewalk or someone like that kid that shot up Sandy Hook. It’s hard to give everyone that credit – that empathy – but I try. In return, I hope to get the same.

With all of that said, some people are not entirely well. (I should know; often enough, I’m one of them). And if you play with fire… if you fuck with a demon … that demon is going to burn you alive. Nothing good ever comes from it. When it comes to people who are sick – people that aren’t even interested in being well – stay the fuck away. This is a lesson I have learned the hard way, but am still having a little trouble applying.

I need to learn to more closely adhere to “Tola’s approach to demons.”

—–

Everything you just read was written right after painting this. It was two days after I wrapped on “No Real Than You Are.”

July 4th (the night referenced in the piece) was my first night of filming. In the hour or so before we actually shot the scene, my co-star and I were not getting along. In fact, we weren’t even speaking to one another. And this scene we had to film – let me put it this way: the director told us that it was the scene in which it was most important for the audience to really see just how in love these characters were with one another. Suffice to say, I was not feeling any love for this girl on that evening and I’m pretty certain her feelings toward me were about the same. In hindsight, she was probably a scapegoat, but that didn’t change my feelings in the moment.

I still haven’t seen the footage, but – from what I’m told – we pulled it off. It took everything I had in me to not say FUCK THIS and just walk away from the set and quit. I was miserable and I was angry. But I didn’t walk away. I shook my shitty feelings the fuck out of my body and for [however long we filmed that night] I played and pretended and made myself alright. If that footage is at all believable, then I gave one fuck of a performance. More of a performance than anyone watching would ever realize. As soon as the director said “cut” though, I fell right back into it. Suppression and healing are two very different things. I can’t actually force myself to be okay. I don’t think anyone can. “Holding it together” and “getting it together” are two very different things. Real healing takes a lot of work. I think that this painting was one step of a walk in the right direction though.

—–

During the month I spent working on “No Real Than You Are” (and scooting around Sarasota on my little thrashBike) I listened almost exclusively to the songs on a playlist that I made shortly after getting into town. The first song on the playlist isn’t online anywhere, so here’s the second. “Eviction Notice” by Riverboat Gamblers.

—–

Signed and numbered 12×15″ prints of “Tola’s Approach to Demons” are available in my webstore.

Hit me up if you’re interested in purchasing the original piece.

My Favorite Cartoon

August 22, 2013

"My Favorite Cartoon." 1/15/13. Pen on scrap. 3x4".
“My Favorite Cartoon.” 1/15/13. Pen on scrap. 3×4″.

I was sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and I was pretty bummed out over (surprise!) a girl. (I’ve astutely noticed that this seems to be a pattern). You see… When we saw each other just before we went into the meeting, she hadn’t paid me quite as much attention as I felt that I needed (ALL OF THE ATTENTION).

So, as I had become prone to doing, I tried to work through my anxiety and hurt feelings with a pen and a piece of paper. I drew a little cartoon, but I wasn’t happy with it. Which made me even more upset. So I tried again. Annnnnnnd… same result. I put my pen and paper on the floor and decided to just sit in my misery and sulk. Because I so enjoy feeling that way. (Who doesn’t?!)

But that was what the old Sam would do. So I begrudgingly picked my pen and paper back up and started again, not even knowing what I was drawing. And this is what came out.

And then I wasn’t upset anymore.

So while I really like this cartoon, what makes it my favorite isn’t necessarily the cartoon itself as much as it’s evidence that I can use art to heal all my stupid, petty wounds. It helps me step back and realize that every little thing that happens around me is not (and is not meant to be interpreted as) proof that I’m a worthless, unlovable piece of shit.

Here are some related images…

This is the original as I've framed it. Underneath the glass, the cartoon is "laminated" in packing tape because... [see next picture for more]
This is the original as I’ve framed it. Underneath the glass, the cartoon is “laminated” in packing tape because… [see next picture for more]
When I had *my very own apartment* at Tranquil Shores, I took it upon myself to "decorate" (to the extent permitted). Of course, I put my favorite cartoon on my front door. To protect it from rain though, I had to "laminate" it first. After a couple days, I was told that I couldn't have it visible outside like that, so I hung it from a piece of scotch tape, just inside my front door, to greet any/all visitors.
When I had *my very own apartment* at Tranquil Shores, I took it upon myself to “decorate” (to the extent permitted). Of course, I put my favorite cartoon on my front door. To protect it from rain though, I had to “laminate” it first. After a couple days, I was told that I couldn’t have it visible outside like that, so I hung it from a piece of scotch tape, just inside my front door, to greet any/all visitors.
At Dave Strait Fest in Minneapolis last weekend, I picked up a copy of New Noise magazine. There was a feature on Rumspringer, in which Wes describes meeting me. I was selling records outside of Common Grounds and handing out fliers with a list of bands with upcoming releases on Traffic Street. In the feature, Wes says something to the effect of "Sam swears they weren't business cards, but they totally were!" I thought it was funny that I came across that while at another fest at which I was (arguably) distributing "business cards." But *this* time, I wasn't giving them to people, I was... [see next image for more]
At Dave Strait Fest in Minneapolis last weekend, I picked up a copy of New Noise magazine. There was a feature on Rumspringer, in which Wes describes meeting me. I was selling records outside of Common Grounds and handing out fliers with a list of bands with upcoming releases on Traffic Street. In the feature, Wes says something to the effect of “Sam swears they weren’t business cards, but they totally were!” I thought it was funny that I found that article while attending another fest, at which I was (arguably) distributing “business cards.” But *this* time, I wasn’t giving them to people, I was…
Using my homemade keychain to tape them up to walls, signs, bike racks, and all other vertical surfaces. "Business cards? Yeah, right! These are stickers! I just don't have a major label budget like all these millionaires with pre-stickified stickers. There's this thing, maybe you've heard of it. It's called punk."
Using my homemade keychain to tape them up to walls, signs, bike racks, and all other vertical surfaces. “Business cards? Yeah, right! These are stickers! I just don’t have a major label budget like all these millionaires with pre-stickified stickers. There’s this thing, maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s called punk.”

 

This piece is still for sale if you’d like to own it. This piece was among the twenty-five featured in my first art show. It sold 11/2/13. Signed 6×8″ prints are available in my webstore.

And so long as we’re talking about Rumspringer, did you guys know that their new full-length is the best thing they’ve ever written?

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.

—–

“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.

—–

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

—–

“The Weak End” series includes:

Insecure and Overwhelmed

August 3, 2013

I’ve had (and still have) friends whose girlfriends are overweight. In years past, I remember meeting some of these girls and thinking things like, “Yeah, she seems nice enough, but I’m pretty sure [insert friend’s name here] can do better.”

It wasn’t until I started dating Heather that I ever had the thought, “Even if this girl were to gain weight, I’ll bet that I’d still be just as in love with her.” So it wasn’t until then that I actually had an understanding of how/why [whatever friend] was dating someone who didn’t have the “right” body type.

This morning, before she left for work, Heather was bumming out about her weight. Heather, however, is not overweight. She’s probably the most beautiful girl on the fucking planet. (Although – as I’ve just admitted – I may be somewhat biased when it comes to something like this). Still, I can relate. I feel for her.

It was January or February of 2012 and I was an inpatient at the Wellness Resource Center. Someone had accidentally smashed out the window next to my bed. Lying there, I thought about how anyone that were to walk past could see me. I remember contemplating going into the kitchen to get a knife. To slit my wrists or cut my throat or do whatever it might take to end my life. The reason: because I’d never be thin enough. I was thinking about killing myself because I was too fat.

At the time, (I’m pretty sure) I was about 150 pounds. Maybe 152 or 153. I don’t have a picture from that time, but to give you an idea of what we’re talking about, here’s a photo taken just now (at 147 pounds, which is close enough).

bddphoto

I’m way too familiar with the feeling of not liking myself – and when I add to that feelings of not even liking my body (my shell) – well, life starts to seem pretty unbearable. Everything starts to seem unbearable. And hopeless. And useless.

insecureandoverwhelmed
“Insecure and Overwhelmed.” March 26th, 2013. Acrylics, watercolor, marker, fabric dye, and knife. On a repurposed (framed) chalkboard. 16½x22”.

This painting was done one night when – though things were going well for me overall – I just couldn’t shake the negative thoughts in the moment. I didn’t really journal that night, but I did write one thing down. “I feel fat and I don’t wanna be me right now. No one will ever want to buy this.*** My art is good for my mental and emotional health, but rarely anything that anyone would enjoy.” Which is to say that I let my discomfort about my body/size slime through to my feelings about my art and the new path I was trying to embark on. I was letting my body image issues infect and destroy everything. They’re that powerful.

I’m pretty great at spilling my guts and clearly I just fucking love to talk about myself… But the one thing that I don’t like to talk about is anything related to my body. You see: if I think I’m fat, but I acknowledge that I have body dysmorphic disorder (because mental health professionals have told me that I do), then that’s an acknowledgement that I’m not really fat. And then I’m a fat idiot in denial about how fat I am.

I’m doing much better with this stuff these days than I ever have in the past. And talking (or writing) about it as I am now, (I think) is an important part of that.

***Despite this painting having the words “no one will ever want to buy this” on it, it did – in fact – sell pretty quickly. There’s also a series of 9×12″ prints but (like much of my super-early work) it’s not listed in the webstore. If you really want one though, just buy any other print and then put a note on your order letting me know that you actually want “Insecure and Overwhelmed” instead.

When I typed that last paragraph/footnote, I initially described this as my “super early, not-very-good work” (instead of just “super early”). I changed that ’cause I do still like it (and most of my other) really early work. I don’t think it’s bad. But it’s certainly not as good as the stuff I’d be making even just six months later. So while I’m not embarrassed of pieces like “Insecure and Overwhelmed,” they’ll probably never be in the webstore only ’cause I don’t want those pieces to be the first thing seen by someone who’s discovering my art for the first time.

Diazepam

August 1, 2013

Someone made the mistake of asking me to transport a bottle of diazepam for a friend. Sounds like trouble in river city!

diazepam
“Diazepam (My Hands Still Shake).” August 1st, 2013. Acrylics and ink. 10×10″ block of wood.

Those of you that followed my progress / story / artwork may remember that back in – oh, when was it – April (probably) I made a piece that addressed how it had become more difficult to be as thoroughly transparent about my feelings as it had been back when I was still living inside the walls of a treatment facility. I believe that I addressed it specifically in my piece, “Maybe I Don’t Believe in God.”

What very few of you know is that I have been compelled for reasons (somewhat) beyond my control to be even less honest in the last month or so. You see, sometimes the choices that I make have repercussions for people that are not… um… me. And that puts a person in a little bit of a moral/spiritual grey area. On the one hand, I want (maybe even need) to be “rigorously honest” (as they say in “the rooms”). But I live in a world where things can get a little complicated and I’ve allowed myself, recently, to slip into a pattern of lying by omission. I carry many of these lies today. Some of them, some of you are aware of. I have confided in you. Others, remain totally in the dark. Today, however, I am choosing to be fully honest. Here is how I spent my day.

I drank coffee, ate some breakfast, bullshitted around the apartment, ate some diazepam, ran some errands, dyed my hair, ate more diazepam, painted this picture, and then – without any real concern for the paints and painting adjacent to me on the couch, stretched out (lying on top of them), and took a nap for a while. And then I hung my stupid confession on the same wall that I’ve been hanging all my newest “works of art” on. My girlfriend came home (remember: silly as it may seem, since she’s my current girlfriend, I’m not using any real names on this website). From there, we mostly continued where we left off last night. Not talking to or really even acknowledging one another. I love her, she loves me. But things are not going well these last couple of days. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m FUCKING EATING DIAZEPAM. Or maybe that’s a symptom of the larger problem. Either way, I am not happy. And while I recognize that a lot of people are something less than happy a lot of the time, it’s not really something that I’m particularly great at. When I get unhappy, I sometimes begin to behave in ways that have a pretty good chance of fucking killing me. I’ve learned other ways to deal with that discontent, but my usual methods of feeling better are not working out so well for me lately. It’s not for a lack of trying. I’ve been painting like a motherfucker, I’ve seen a mental health counselor twice in the last four days, and I’ll see another on Saturday and another on Tuesday. Whatever the issue is… fuck if I know.

I am tentatively making plans to bail the fuck out of Jacksonville. I love this girl, but I don’t know if that’s enough. And maybe – just maybe – I’d be doing her a favor by leaving. It’s entirely possible that I am not cut out for sharing a life with another human being. My own mental illness is – sometimes – all that I can manage. Having to help someone else with their own… may be beyond my range of capability. It’s possible that I make a better friend than I make a boyfriend. Shit – just ask my last serious girlfriend – we’re doing great as friends! (Isn’t that right, [girl whose name I won’t use]?) It was probably selfish and fucked up of me to ever get involved in the first place. After all, she probably didn’t fully understand exactly what she would be getting herself into. And I certainly did my best, at the time, to convince her that all was well. I was healed, after all!

So, here’s the general game plan… I have way too much stuff and whether I leave or not, I feel like it’s time to slim the fuck down. All of my records, books, etc, are now for sale. And of course ALL OF MY ART IS FOR SALE. (PLEASE BUY SOME OF IT). Ignore the prices in the store. I will cut you a god damn deal.

One last note, as I wrote on Facebook earlier this evening…

Would it be fair to say that we’ve pretty much established that I have no problems when it comes to disclosing personal details of my life to the Internet at large?
Okay, cool. Glad we’re on the same page.
NOW… if something I’ve written means something to you and you wanna tell me about it… Awesome! I appreciate that kind of shit. It’s inspiring, encouraging, and totally welcome.
Similarly, if you’d like to share something *with me* about your own life that you think might be helpful… Awesome! That kind of feedback is also great and I really appreciate it!
BUT if you reach out to me just to ask for MORE details about what’s going on with me… If you have nothing to offer me and you just want the inside scoop for your own weird selfish (probably ego or gossip related reasons) well… feel free to fuck right off with that shit.
My life is hectic enough without having to play twenty questions with every asshole that wants a piece of me.
Love, Sam

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