During the opening reception for The Descent Of Man, I was approached by a man I didn’t know. He was a tall, well dressed, older man, and he was there with his family; a wife and two kids. Along with his wife, he came up to me and asked if I was the artist. I was. He went on to compliment me on the Family print, and it sounded like he wanted to buy it. And he kinda did, but not. He explained that they both really liked the print, but well, he had two children, and my print only had one. He wanted me to make him a version of the print “just like that one, but with two children”. I hesitated slightly, but I took his card and led him to believe that I would indeed create this print for him. And at that moment, I guess I was just flattered that he liked it enough to pay me for it, and I felt ok about doing a commissioned print. Hell, I’ve done commissions before and I have absolutely no problem with that, as long as the circumstances are right.
It didn’t take long for me to change my mind. As soon as I started to give it any thought, it felt wrong. See, despite the relatively generic depiction of the family, that image represents a pretty deep collection of negativity and sadness that clearly meant nothing to this man. Not only did it mean nothing, but he had no clue it existed. The only part of that print that means anything is the space between the child and each parent. Sure, it’s subtle, but it’s not that fuckin’ subtle. Not much of my work is, especially the stuff in this show. Now I felt insulted. He looked at that print that holds genuine meaning to me, and he saw a cute little family picture. It was a meaningless wall decoration that he would have bought from Walmart as long as it had two kids in it. No way could I make this print for him.
But, wait a minute… he was offering me money in exchange for my art. That’s good, right? That’s what I want, isn’t it? I’ve done tons of meaningless art in exchange for money for clients like Temple, Penn, rock bands, and whatever other random folks I’ve designed things for. There’s nothing wrong with “commercial art”. So I should be able to look at this as just another freelance job where I’m creating what the client wants in exchange for some cash. I have expenses after all. I have a kid, an apartment, an iPhone bill, internet, gas, food, PS3 games… tons of shit I need to pay for. I’m pretty poor, so it’s not exactly wise to turn down an honest dollar when the opportunity presents itself. He called me about a week and a half after the opening to check on the progress of the print. I told him I’d get back to him soon.
Well, eventually I did get back to him. I explained that I wouldn’t be able to make the print. Without getting too detailed, I told him that I’d given it a lot of thought and that I just wouldn’t feel right doing it. I told him that I would feel like a sell-out. I’m almost certain he had no clue what the frig I was talking about, but he was polite and accepted my decision. In the end I have my integrity intact, and a huge gap in my bank account.
Will all this street cred do a damn thing for me? Absolutely not.
Sometimes I start to write a post days, or even weeks before it gets published to the site. Sometimes I’ll just type in a title for the post as a quick note to myself, reminding me what I wanted the post to be about. If it’s any indication as to what’s been on my mind, the draft title for this post has been “crushing loneliness bullshit”.
Anyway, I don’t think I’ve adjusted to this new stage of my life. This post-relationship, post-family stage. I’m just not over it. I constantly feel lonely, guilty, and just all types of salty. I suppose the holiday season has worked to exaggerate these feelings. Darwin won’t be sleeping over with me on Christmas Eve, we won’t be waking up together on Christmas morning, and I have no Christmas tree to put his gifts under. Sure, I’ll get to see him that day, but it’s ruined. It’s just ruined. It isn’t the way it should be, and it really hurts. I imagine I’ll spend most of the day alone, playing my imaginary PS3 (that I’ve actually been considering trying to steal from a store), and I’ll probably have Christmas dinner by myself at a Chinese restaurant or huddled up with a Wawa grilled chicken sandwich as I wait for this fucked up year to end.
I feel pulled in so many directions. There’s pressure to do the right thing, when I have absolutely no clue what the right thing is. I thought I did the right thing already, so why doesn’t it feel better? Why don’t I feel satisfied or relieved as if a huge weight had been lifted? This sucks.
Hours upon hours of careful thought, introspection, and physical effort combined with at least $528 went into the opening of my current show. Unlike my last solo show in February 2005, I felt proud of the work, and wanted people to see it. To help that along, I used Myspace, Facebook, and Evite to create events, send invitations, and occasional reminders. I even sent out a mass text message the day of the event. Did it pay off? Welll…
The most common question I’ve gotten since the opening has been “How did it go?”. To be honest, I’m kind of unsure as to how to answer that. On one hand, the place seemed relatively full of people for good portions of the evening. Close friends, casual friends, old acquaintances, strangers, etc. There were several former/supposed friends who were invited and didn’t show, including some that even went as far as to RSVP that they would be attending. Anyway, as far attendance goes, sure, I guess I was satisfied with the overall number of bodies in the room. But how does one measure success with an event like this?
The other question I’ve gotten pretty often is “Did you sell anything?”. And the answer is no. This is the fourth show I’ve done (3 solo, 1 group), and it’s the first time I’ve been shut out, despite the fact that it’s clearly my best work. Apparently I’m in the minority in that thinking, because the public seems to think it’s overpriced dog shit. So, financially speaking, the show was a complete disaster. I spent nearly $600 to show my artwork to a bunch of people that were fine with only seeing that one time. Now, the show isn’t over. The work is still there, and will be until early January. Needless to say, I’m not overly hopeful that work will sell, certainly not enough to break even. Especially considering that the shop takes a 40% commission. Not only am I left in a hole financially, but now I’m going to be stuck with about 20 framed pieces of my own artwork. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that!? I certainly don’t want to decorate my stupid apartment with my own artwork. Whatever.
I also had a grand plan to document the entire process of creating the work, setting up the show, and the opening reception. As with most plans, it didn’t happen. I was left with very little footage, and far less usable footage. Using what I had, I put together a movie showing how some of the pieces came about, from original concept sketch to final print, along with some other random bits. If you watch it, select the “view in high quality” option, or it will probably look pretty shitty.
My last solo show was way back in February 2005. I took it on short notice, and I was severely under-prepared for it, which resulted in some pretty hefty disappointment. I’m working hard to avoid a repeat of that. I still have a ton of work to do before the opening, but I’m hopeful that it will get done.
THE DESCENT OF MAN is not about evolution.
In fact, it’s more like devolution; an emotional degeneration. It’s being unsure if you’ve hit rock bottom and can’t escape, or worse, still caught in the downward spiral.
Through the use of icons, images of anchors, sinking ships and traditional depictions of bad luck, this collection of work attempts to convey the hopelessness that manifests itself as ones entire world fails.
THE DESCENT OF MAN: Opening Reception
Saturday December 6, 2008
6-9 PM
Square Peg Artery & Salvage
108 S 20th Street Philadelphia, PA 19103 click for directions
The art will stay up for all of December.
My friend Kookeroo Kate had some tickets to see Nine Inch Nails at the lil House of Blues in Atlantic City. It’s a small club inside the Showboat Hotel & Casino. Needless to say I was pretty excited to see this, especially after seeing them at the big Wachovia Center with the full out-of-this-world production. This was described as a more intimate, stripped down performance. And man, was it ever! After scratching my head through the opening band Health (who I actually did not hate, like everyone else did), I was thrilled when NIN took to the bare stage.
The crowd surged forward quite a bit, which I expected, and at that moment it was time for me to make a decision. It’s actually something that’s crossed my mind a few times in recent months, especially after seeing Coheed and Cambria in NYC. Through my teen years and early twenties, I went to a ton of concerts and I spent most of my time rocking out right at the front of the stage, or spazzing my way through whatever wacky mosh pit or clusterfuck was in effect that night. In recent years, for whatever reason that just hasn’t been the case. Nowadays I hang back to get a clear view and keep peoples nasty sweat off of me. Sometimes I’ll even chill up in the balcony. Anyway, I made a choice to stay in the mix on this night. I decided that I would rock and roll my way straight to the front of the stage, regardless of how many tattooed meatheads stood in my way. I danced and yelled and sang along, throwing and absorbing elbow strikes all along the way. It one point during the set, one of my own songs actually sprang to my mind. In fact, it’s my masterpiece! Without question, the greatest song I’ve ever written or played. Obviously I’m talking about Ground n Pound! Everyone assumes this song is about an actual street fight or some bullshit like that, but if you pay attention to my amazing poetic lyrics, it becomes clear that the song was written about my love of experiencing shows in this way. Dig it:
if you’re lookin’ for a fight
you found one
you found a pit full of energy just like yours
flowing in circles, thrashing about
if you wanna get to the front
ground and pound
ground and pound
if you’re lookin’ for a fight
you found one
you’re full of sweat like the first time you got laid
pushing and pulling, screaming aloud
if your body’s not sore yet
ground and pound
ground and pound
Needless to say, NIN was awesome. They proved that they don’t need any outrageous stage production to be one of the most awesome bands ever. They plowed through an amazing set, and even brought out Peter Murphy to sing Reptile! How cool is that!? Being that close to the band reminded me of seeing them in 1994, which has always been a very fond memory. Every bulging vein, drop of sweat, broken guitar string, all clearly visible right before my eyes. I could actually hear the sound of Trent and Robin singing, from their mouths, not through the PA. And man, Robin Finck is 10 times more entertaining from up close. That dude makes some hilariously wild faces when he plays.
NIN SETLIST:
Pinion
Love Is Not Enough
Terrible Lie
1,000,000
Letting You
March of the Pigs
Piggy
The Frail
The Wretched
The Collector
Survivalism
Reptile (with Peter Murphy!)
Closer
Discipline
The Beginning of The End
Ghosts 31
Wish
Head Down
Gave Up
The Line Begins To Blur
Only
God Given
Down In It
Hurt
Starfuckers Inc.
The Hand That Feeds
Head Like A Hole
The NIN show was more than enough for one night, but I still had one more thing planned. I wanted to win some free money while in Atlantic City. Unfortunately, the casino at the Showboat sucked and didn’t have any live table games, just slots and computer bullshit. I needed some roulette. It wasn’t a problem since the good ol’ Trump Taj Mahal was right next door. So, we got to the Taj and located the roulette wheels. After waiting for Kate to get over her irrational fear of roulette tables, we started the gambling. I could go into detail about each bet that was placed, but who gives a fuck really. I got to the casino with $60 in my pocket, and I left with $200. About 30 seconds after leaving the casino, I found another $10 laying on the sidewalk. I picked that shit up and pocketed it without even breaking stride.
By the time I got home I was already pretty annoyed with this irritating and occasionally painful cough that I’ve had for a week now. I really didn’t sleep much in part because of that annoying hacking. Whatever! It was all cool aside from the retarded coughing.
Lately I’ve been feeling like I have so much on my mind, that forming a concise, focused blog entry seems impossible to do. With so much going on, and so many issues to deal with all the time, it could be easy to overlook some of these precious moments that I have with Darwin while he’s so young. Luckily I think I do a good job at keeping that perspective.
Since I’m a generally negative person, I spend plenty of time thinking about bad things, sad things, and just all around negative shit that I feel is sure to come my way. One of the most popular negativities in my brain is the idea that I won’t be able to have the close relationship with Darwin that I want so badly to have. It isn’t a complete fabrication of course; I get reminded fairly often that “things won’t always be this way”, referring to when he gets a little older and I’m no longer able to spend every day with him. Trust me when I tell you that I will be crushed when that day comes. I already shed tears just thinking about it. I want my relationship with Darwin to be as different from the relationship between my father and I as I can possibly make it.
Anyway, Darwin is awesome. At 15 months old he is running full speed through the house, park, mall, bookstore and anywhere else he’s let loose. He’s extremely curious about his surroundings, his favorite playthings are anything that he isn’t allowed to touch, and he has almost no fear or concern for his own well-being. As far as speaking goes, he regularly uses: mama, dada, baba, shoe, book, ball, and a few others. Unfortunately, the ear infections that plagued him through his early months have continued to be a problem. He’s now scheduled to have surgery to insert tubes into his ears in a couple of weeks. I’m told it’s a very common procedure, and that he should feel much better afterward. It’s a little worrisome, but I’m just anxious to have him be pain free since he’s spent most of his little life with these nagging ear infections on top of teething, constantly falling down, and all the other inherent hardships that come with learning how to function on planet Earth.
I’ll try to make this quick, because the more I think about it, the more my blood fucking boils.
I’ve been looking for a car. And I needed one for around $1,500 or less. I found a few on craigslist, but they all had some outrageous mileage or some other issues keeping me away. The one that was left was advertised as a 1991 Buick LeSabre selling for $1,000. I called to verify a few details, and was told the car had 117,000 miles on it.
I met up with the fucker tonight, and took the car for a quick test drive. It worked, so I was ready to go. I took out my money from the ATM and we did the deal over at the title transfer place. Done deal.
On the way home I was stuck in bad traffic, so I pulled out the owners manual from the glove box, just for the hell of it. Wow… 1988!? Is it the wrong owners manual, or IS THIS FUCKING CAR ACTUALLY AN ‘88?! Then I take a look at the mileage. Wow… 171,000?! He said 117,000! Fuck. I get home and run the VIN number just to be sure, and yep, it’s an ‘88.
A 1991 LeSabre with 117,000 in “good” condition is valued at $1,050.
A 1988 LeSabre with 171,000 in “fair” condition (which is what I got) is valued at $425.
I just got seriously ripped off. If I had paid closer attention to everything along the way I suppose I could have stopped the deal before it was too late. I guess I was too trusting. But as usual, I am fucked. I have a car, for now. But I surely can’t see it lasting very long.
I was offered three hours of work at the studio in East Falls. I accepted it, because I like making music and helping the kids make their music, but most of all because I need money. For months now, I’ve known that the car I drive has an extremely limited range. Meaning, if I go too far the car will overheat, stall, and fuck up in all kinds of ways, leaving me stranded. I tried to find a ride to work, without success. So I made the decision to take the car to work. Like all decisions that I make, it worked out wonderfully for me.
The car started to run hot on the way up there, but I made it without any issues. The ride home however, was a different story. By some miracle I actually made it onto 476 before the car stalled, but before the night was over it stalled 4 or 5 separate times, leaving me on the side of the highway. The last time was right near the MacDade Blvd. off-ramp. I sat there for a couple of hours, freezing, texting a few people, and being ignored by most of them. In the end my friend Kira picked me up. She was working, delivering pizzas in the area and stopped by to get me. I stuffed Darwins stroller and car seat in her back seat and left the fucking car behind. I assume it’s dead for good, but even if they get it and squeeze some extra life out of it, I can’t trust it to get me where I need to go, and I sure as hell can’t use it to drive Darwin around, especially since it’s cold outside now.
Of course, the loss of the car and the fucked up night are merely one tiny straw on the camel’s back. Actually, fuck the camel, it’s on my back. So many things go wrong, so often, I’m really feeling like I can’t deal with it anymore. What does that mean exactly? No idea. But it needs to stop, and I totally don’t care how. I really don’t.
My life was better before. When exactly was “before” though? And better how? I’m not sure, maybe. But I feel like right now everything sucks really, really bad. I am still constantly overwhelmed by the idea that I technically do not live with my son. At this point it hardly matters, because he’s with me for roughly 9 of the 12 hours that he’s awake each day. But that won’t always be true.
Once he’s a little older and has somewhere to be, like if he goes to some kind of day care or kindergarten, I’ll be missing out. I already miss out on giving him baths most of the time, which was one of my favorite things to do when I was living there. I’m not there to see him freaking out with his cool toys in the evening. I’m not able to go peep on him in his crib while he sleeps, which is the cutest thing ever. I miss all of it, and the whole thing just crushes me. I try to tell myself over and over that I did the right thing, but that doesn’t make this any easier. I constantly look ahead to times when he fully understands the situation and wants me there. And when he needs me and doesn’t even know it. I want to be with him, for him. And for me.
I felt such a strong bond with him when he was a small baby, and the idea of losing that is just devastating. It’s an unfortunate situation, and there’s no good answer. It happens to tons of people everywhere, and the world goes on. But I want his world to include a very present, hands-on Father. I really hope that can be possible.
Sometimes I say things to my “grandmother” (no bloodline), that people would find surprising, shocking, and probably pretty mean. I tell her that I hope she dies. I tell her that I hate her fucking guts. Sometimes it’s more standard stuff like “Drop dead”, “fuck you”, “fuck off”, stuff like that. I say it as a reaction when she’s pushing my buttons, which she does every chance she gets. But make no mistake, I mean every word of it. I mean it as deeply as when I say “I love you” to Darwin. I really do think the world would be a better place without her in it. I don’t just mean my world, I mean the world as a whole. She an uneducated, closed minded, 85 year old motherfucker with a drivers license and a valid voter registration who thinks Hilary Clinton should be President simply “because she’s a woman”. Take my word for it, she’s not doing society any favors by hanging around this long. But just on a personal level, she’s made it impossible for us to get along. She makes zero effort to keep things cool, so fuck her. She can’t get in the ground soon enough.
As I was minding my own business yesterday, sitting at my desk working on some artwork to exercise my own demons, as well as eventually enrich someones life, I received a few text messages from someone who I’ve spent a whole lot of time with over the last decade. I don’t have the exact messages now, but they said things like “You’re so angry”, and “you’re not the same person anymore” among many other friendly reminders. And yeah, I really am angry. I know I am. Honestly, I spend at least half of my day feeling like I am right on the very edge of causing something really bad to happen to something, or someone. I feel like I’ve been saving so much up for so long that when it finally pops you’ll be able to see it from miles away. It’s a scary thought, to me especially.
Adding to my frustration is the fact that I can’t even use any of this for artistic inspiration. I have these intense, often violent images in my head, that I try and try to recreate in some tangible form, but I just can’t make it happen. My hands aren’t able to build what my mind sees. It feels like a straitjacket.
And really, this stuff is only a fraction of what’s going on. Add in the job loss, the crumbled relationship, lack of transportation, some issues with Darwin, and just 90,000 other things… I’ve just really reached a point where I don’t think I can take any more. There’s no way I can sustain this for much longer.
