Being an artist is a battle between ego and reality, where reality always wins, and pretentiousness is the collateral for a well-failed plan. It is no different for me, and if I said, “I am successful,” as many define success, then I am poorest of us all. So I conclude that I’ve failed up in some cases and failed down in most. And yet, I continue moving forward to my inevitable conclusion, wherever that may lie.
I was born in Porterville, California, to adoring parents in the spring of 1975. And as delusion often does with unfounded confidence, my suspected genius manifested itself into pimples and dreams of rock stardom. My failing started early, as I neither had the bravado nor the heartless narcissism necessary to succeed as a musician. But I did earn the adoration of a certain fan who luckily had enough poor judgment and low expectations to marry me in 1996 after six years of growing up and falling in love. If I succeeded in anything, it was in this: that I allowed myself to love and be loved by her, who only wanted me and my best interests. And it is she that has been my confidence and eternal motivation. If I say “I love you,” Tiffany, then those words must carry the weight of creation and the depth of eternity. Are there such words?
Years, three daughters, and enough life experience have brought me to the conclusion that life is short, hard, and pointless without proper perspective. Success isn’t in artistic measure, “business” success (haha), or financial reward for your hard work. Art isn’t even a business, a profession, a hobby, a career, or a passion. No. It’s a blessing—and mostly a curse. God Himself feeds it into your soul and lets it burn in your heart from one disappointment to another, like little islands of accomplishment, joy, and reward in a great ocean of suck and disappointment. The blessing is exactly this: a place to belong where your soul finds rest. The curse is that that place of belonging provides no rest nor shelter in our current world and leaves you trying to find a foothold without resolution. You’re on your own. Woe is me; I am the tortured artist.
As most individual movements of the divine often do, I only became an artist by accident. Situational circumstances in the ’90s led to some potential monetary value in my drawing “hobby”—just enough success to lead to dreams of art stardom, wealth, and overwhelming joy and happiness. And provided my circumstances were: a newly married man, working for an irrigation district, and living in a little district house in the country. The appeal of greatness was irresistible (perhaps I had enough ego and narcissism after all). So I quit the company, like any young fool would, and worked in my father’s plumbing business as I pursued my dream of becoming a “great” artist.
When a man is a dreamer, he can let his dreams become his reality, and that reality can still be an illusion (or worse, a delusion). He can amplify great things into greater things in pursuit of even greater things, all the while not realizing that amplification requires input power that must be sustained. This comes in the form of money, inspiration, and discipline. And all of these things came due in the spring of 2007.
As we entered the new millennium, so also did my artistic prospects enter a new phase. And a bragging man (not I) might mention that the vehicles he drove cost less than the material they carried. And that person might also mention that there wasn’t an edition published that didn’t sell out or approach such. That person might or might not have gotten the praise of some of those in some movies and shows that influenced him growing up. Wow! What could go wrong? Yippee! The inevitable, well-defined “success”! Right?
Alas, with great blessing comes great responsibility and great reward. But perspective without a focal point has a funny way of distorting the image. And the fallen nature of mankind will always elevate blessing to fit his/her definition thereof. And it always disappoints. But in that disappointment, you find the focal points that allow for proper perspective—even multi-pointed. And I myself am not immune. You see, wisdom is a culmination—an event horizon, if you like—where proper perspective meets success, failure, helplessness, and bitter disappointment. Success teaches you that there is more. Failure teaches you that there is less. Helplessness teaches you that there is nothing left. And disappointment teaches you who and what will be left standing with you in the end. They all come together in a grand illumination. And here is where my story begins.
In the late summer of 2006, with things still going relatively in my favor, I had a dream. I explained the dream to a close friend of mine at that time, and it went something like this:
I was in a store talking to a man. And soon, I realized I was working in this store as a hardware store attendant, and the man was looking for gopher traps. As I was explaining the differences between what we carried, I suddenly woke up.
Later that day, I was visiting a friend and telling him about my dream, and I’ll never forget his response as he said, “That is highly unlikely,” as he laughed with a grand guffaw.
It wasn’t long after that that changing dynamics and a horrible case of artist’s block began to tax me financially. Without going into detail, by the fall of 2006, I was beginning to feel the desperation of a financial pitfall on the horizon. That, combined with familial complications, brought me to my knees (literally). It was that fall that I found the Lord Jesus Christ and accepted Him as my God and Savior. And by the spring of 2007, I was destitute. The economic collapse of 2008 began to hit artists long before the rest of the world, as passive spending goes long before the groceries.
It was June 22 of 2007, upon my first day as a hardware store attendant at the hour of 11:00 a.m., that I met a man who was shopping for gopher traps, and I found myself explaining the different classes and types that we carried. On my drive home that afternoon, still in shock at the fulfillment of the dream (nightmare), all I wanted in the world was an ice-cold fountain drink—which I could no longer afford. Nothing in the world hits a man harder than looking into his children’s eyes, wondering where he’ll find the money to pay the bills. Now explain to me again how being an artist is a “blessing.”
I didn’t touch an art-creating device for three years after that. I seethed in bitter disappointment and repulsion of anything art, art-world, or artist-related. But I did study things—a lot of things!
When I was a boy, I would often get into trouble for disassembling my parents’ and siblings’ things. I would assemble them into other things. I made electric cars out of electric lawnmowers. Remote-control cars out of cassette decks. Skateboards out of roller skates. Firearms out of brake lines. Dart guns out of sewing needles and typewriters. And things that go flash and boom out of road flares and motor cases, etc. Many of the things I made then would likely trigger some government entity today and land me in hot water. But at the time, it was innocent enough. However, I did shoot a hole through our wooden backyard fence into the lawn of our neighbor’s house with a combination of strike-anywhere matches, brake lines, and mercury fulminate snap caps. I scared myself out of building “certain” things forever.
The desire to create things never left me, but it left me desiring to create differently. I studied physics, math, machining, tooling, and CAD/CAM. I learned to read and write G-code first (we use post-processing now). And with help from family, I began to set up a small shop where I invented things, one of which was—lo and behold—a gopher trap. I called it the Robo-Cat, and the prototype still works today. However, it has a permanent crack and some ink stains after my father-in-law triggered it with a Sharpie marker.
One evening in 2010, a very special person arrived at my door. He asked me to follow him out to his car, and when I did, he placed an envelope full of money in my hand and said, “Draw me something.” Before I could contemplate the proposal, he got in his car and drove off. He later explained to me why he did it after I drew him a very nice piece to add to his collection. He said (and I paraphrase), if he gave me time to reject the proposal, I’d likely not start drawing again, but if he left the money with me before I could refuse, I’d be compelled to draw something. He didn’t care what I drew—just draw him something. And he was right. This is what got me drawing again in 2010. That and other special motivational conversations with friends and family (you know who you are, and I’ll always be grateful to you).
Through 2010–2020, I embarked on some of the greatest and most difficult compositions I’ve drawn to date. I entered into a different stage once again in my “career,” where stability seemed to rule. I learned how to frame in the old closed-corner style of the masters. I learned to water-gild with rabbit skin glue and composition ornament. But what’s most exciting is that I learned to cast and mold my own ornamentals and design and CNC machine my own designs. My frames became nearly as artistic as my drawings. The difference between my reboot of 2010 and my original pursuit is that I never put all of my eggs in one basket—and to this day, I do not. For the basket of the artist is shallow-sided and loosely weaved, and wisdom doesn’t allow me to trust it.
Art, for me, is like a dysfunctional relationship with a narcissist. Very alluring, with wide-eyed promises, tears, and sincerity. Perfect aesthetics make them irresistible and promising. And just as you begin to trust them, they prove once again that your comfort, enlargement, and soul will pay for your fall into temptation. They are dangerous but leave you obsessed in some way, for better or worse. You must keep your relationship in check, or else they’ll take as much as you will give.
Throughout this time, I never stopped studying, learning, inventing, and designing. I’ve invented many things and processes. I’ve studied electrical theory, electronics, coding in C, C++ (some Python), embedded systems, and embedded engineering processes. I’ve studied mechanical engineering processes, physics, and advanced math processes (which I still struggle with, by the way). I’ve learned resin casting and molding, all forms of welding, fabrication in metals and plastics, CAD/CAM, 3D printing, CNC of all types, laser and PCB design. PLC programing, Residential electrical, plumbing, and most forms of construction and woodworking are also in my toolbox. I don’t pretend to be an expert in anything, but I have an eternal desire to learn more and bring to fruition what does not yet exist. This is the core of my soulful desires. And as only a high-school graduate with a record of college dropout, I have no degree to show for it. I suppose this portends to yet another failure I can attribute to my lot.
The years 2020–2024 have given me great concern for the world of the aspiring artist. I’m thankful I’ve become part of the “old guard” of drawing and graphite work in some respects. In times past, it wasn’t uncommon to have dozens of inquiries for any given work of art—some with a couple of dozen. Before 2021, I can say I sold every work of art I ever created (sooner or later), even doodles. It’s too early to say whether this is just an economic downturn, inflation, energy issues, etc. However, I will say—it feels different.
Looking Ahead
As I approach 2025 and beyond, I plan on creating the greatest works of graphite art I’ve ever made, but on my time. I am no longer interested in the prospects of potential sales or dreams of artistic greatness. I am a father, husband, grandfather, builder, maker, inventor, fabricator, entrepreneur, learner, teacher, and friend. My drawings and artwork no longer define me—I define them. The artistic endeavor no longer defines relevance in myself. I’ve found who I am, and reprimanded the voices of insufficiency.
Looking to the future, I have many, many plans for designs and fabrications that help us all. My art is just a part of who I am as a person. I don’t know what’s going to happen (God willing). But I know one thing is for certain: I’ll always create new works that I hope, in some way, contribute to society in a pursuit that is selfless and of value—even if that value is only in inspiration. And lastly the greatest education that being an artist has taught me in this world, is exactly this: you will fail in this life, you can choose to fail, or you can choose to fail up. Get up.
Perhaps I’ll put it all down in detail in a book someday.
