a day in the life

When I tell people I'm an artist, they usually look at the tattoos, and the shitty clothes, and just think i'm some lazy, loser stoner, who's just basically slumming it through life. And they'd be right, except about the lazy part. I know I didn't turn out to be the prince charming my parent's wanted me to be, but they raised me to be pretty decent, at least when i'm not on a bender. I work hard and I'm good at what I do. 

People always ask what I do everyday, them imagining me stoned out of my mind sitting on the couch watching ren and stimpy. My life is pretty routine. It's like going to the office, but instead i'm painting pictures of naked girls. I suppose there are some perks to the job.  I had my friend Hugo follow me around for an entire day to shoot my shenanigans. Hugo's in the banking industry, one of the big banks, with a very nice cushy job, a nice condo, and a penchant for boats. Suffice to say, we come from very different worlds. 

Honestly I was a bit surprised that he was willing to give me a hand with the project. He took a thursday off of work and we just hung and while he dragged around his camera and took photographs. It was like we were a gay couple for a day.

I wanted Hugo's side of the story, so here's a short transcript of our day's adventure from his point of view:

"We meet that morning by Caltrain and stop in at the local pancake house for coffee and conversation. Daniel and I scheme over the day’s events while cutting our pancakes into delicious little geometries. There is much to do and we eat with haste. The waitress unnecessarily tops us off - unaware of our greater ambitions - before we settle and make our departure.

Back at Daniel’s a monster waits to ambush us, his italian mastiff, Godzilla. We open the door to its lair and are soon confronted. The joyful beast embraces Daniel and is seemingly appreciative of the human chew-toy that he came home bearing. I humbly introduce myself and the creature spares my life with a Caesar-like nobility. We all pal around for a bit before making our way to Daniel’s workshop downstairs. The room is busy, engulfed in artistic creations of past, present and future. Daniel tries to explain the madness but it is lost on me. He takes a quick moment to address something on the computer and then we move to the patio for a smoke. Miles away a jumbo touches down at SFO like a butterfly with sore feet. I consider what time it is and what I would be doing if I had not chosen to play hookie on this particular day. I smile. 

We swing by the BART station to grab Paul, his tattoo artist, and the three of us make our way to San Carlos. In back of the tattoo shop we chat up and light up a few cigarettes. Daniel is no stranger to ink but I still get the sense that he’s mentally preparing himself for what’s coming - or maybe just taking a solemn moment to say goodbye to another little blank patch of skin-canvas. Paul traces and refines. He sterilizes and lubricates and calibrates. Moments later, after only a few painful winces, what only existed as a few insignificant lines, curves, and a tear of trace paper is now a piece of Daniel forever. They bandage him up and send him on his way like some kind of outpatient soul-surgery. 

We drop off some mail and it's off to being a role model.A sweater and he is transformed into Coach Chen. We drop in to check on the troops at the pool. Daniel coaches high school swimming and water polo. The athletes all hustling to set up for their meet - but they have done this before. No need for us to stay long.  We have mail to play with and dogs to send out. And art. We have to art.

His upstairs private studio is peaceful. Rows of cubicles but no computers. Stools but few chairs. 3rd floor with a view. A girl with her headphones on is scribbling away on something; she is the only other person here. It’s as if all the workers are out on a lunch break that they won’t be returning from. Daniel takes a seat at his workstation in the corner by the window and surveys a scattering of works in progress - perhaps wondering where to even start. Outside I notice a man in a pink shirt loitering about like he doesn't know where he’s supposed to be. He’s rummaging through his pockets. Daniel is already mixing paint having decided his next move. We put on some music to break the silence. Daniel puts his brush to canvas and I crack the tab on a beer. We both get to work.

Downstairs is much less tranquil. It's a artist collective that Daniel hangs out with. A dozen people buzz about the workshop with an emphasis on production. There is a timeline and an agenda. A feeling that some business element has taken over. In the back an argument flares up about money and someone presumably getting fucked by it. The atmosphere is almost overwhelming but I am relieved as the busyness eventually dissipates.

It's an intense community. An array of different projects all being worked on in little teams I

don't really understand. We take someone's dog for a walk and grab some sandwiches.

People come and go - so does a spliff. The few of us left hang out by a Mac and talk

shop for a bit.

We take a break from the studio and meet up with Jasmine for a couple Old Fashions at Trick Dog. The plastic bandaging on Daniel’s newest tattoo is falling off - unable to maintain adhesiveness in the wake of today’s events. With a tasty drink in hand I again take reflect on how un-Thursday-like the day has felt. It is pleasant but still feels so foreign to a person like me. I will have another Old Fashion, though. 

There is a struggle happening here. A world behind you (the "real world", it likes

to be called) measuring up your life investment versus success, time versus

money, lifestyle versus livelihood. I get the feeling Daniel may be at a crossroads -

painting paychecks or expiring aspirations. However it turns out at least he gave it a shot."

Thanks Hugo I couldn't have written it better myself.

And here are some pretty pictures for those of you who dont read good.

Usually I don't eat breakfast, but since it was gonna be a pretty crazy one, I decided to take Hugo out to my favorite local breakfast joint.

 I wake up around 7:30-8 everyday. I wish I could sleep in nowadays, but it just really doesn't happen.

8-9 After I wake up I take Zilla out for a couple of miles, shit, piss, and feed him. I'll hit the bag or do some pull ups, but nothing too crazy, just to keep the hands fast.

Godzilla is about a year and a half now and to be honest he has been quite a handful. He's my best friend though and best friends gotta help each other out when the cards are down.

10-11 I'll spend a few hours checking email, updating bullshit, keeping my shit straight. Usually I throw in a quick jerk session, but Hugo was there and it would have gotten awkward real fucking fast.

We pick up Paul around 11 so I can get some ink. I know some people have a negative perception on tattoos. They can go fuck themselves.

It's not like I get tattoos everyday, but I've wanted this one for a long time and when I get preoccupied or obsessed about something, I have to do it right away or I'll tend to lose it.

I met Paul through art school, besides being a full time tattoo artist, he's quite a fantastic oil painter, and not too shabby with a can.

 Getting tattoos for me is like going to the therapist. We get to talk shop, life, love, and everything inbetween. You can find Paul at Belmont Tattoo and piercing. You can find them at the link below: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Belmont-Tattoo-and-Body-Piercing/161078723918488

 We finish up around 1 and I drop off some personalized postcards I've made for my clients and personal fans. I'm pretty sure they usually end up in the trash.

I've been coaching high school kids for 4 years now. I know i'm far from the perfect role model, but I love coaching and I love watching kids achieve things they never thought were possible. Practice happens 3:30-5:30 everyday, sometimes with those sweet two a days.

 Sometimes I wonder when some parents gonna see my art work or blog and realize what a shitty asshole I am and get my ass fired. I really hope it doesn't happen.

 For the past six months I've been going to the studio nearly everyday. Weekends included. Sometimes I'll stop in the morning before practice, sometimes after, sometimes both. It's always different.

It's a pretty grimey neighborhood, but I'm just glad I haven't been mugged yet.

 Before this studio I was working out of my house in the basement. And at the time I thought I would never leave, but getting this new work space in the mission saved my career.

 It's small, but I have a window. And it's quiet and there's really usually no one here. And I get to just work and paint.

 Can't complain about the view. I had been looking at a few other locations and when I saw that window I signed the papers on the spot.

 And it's just usually me. For hours. Alone. I tend to lose track of time. I hardly know what day of the week it is sometimes. I don't think about time through days, I think about time through projects and drying time. It's weird.

 I usually don't drink while I'm working. I'll smoke all the spliffs in the world but I don't paint drunk.

My friend Jasmine stops by around 4 and we talk some shop. She's curated before and is currently working on a project at the de Young. I'm really hoping she sneaks me into a museum someday. we start having a few beers and once I get started on the sauce, it's kind of hard for me to stop. What can I say, I like to party.

The shoes that have taken me through all this mess.

Around 5 I take Hugo and Jas over to an artist collective downstairs I've been hanging out with. It's just a weird assortment of painters, woodworkers, designers, screen printers, and all this other crazy shit and I love it. All the boys smoke spliffs and do work. And it's like for the first time I have something of a crew.

Dan is a zine and print maker and I'm really hoping to collaborate on a short graphic novel this summer. You can check out his stuff here: palmpublications.blogspot.com, palmcults.org, and palmzines.com.

Jeff is a internationally renowned graffiti writer and creative director at derbysf. You can check out his stuff here:

http://www.sleazymccheesy.com/,

http://www.derbysf.com/

After I'm done with the day, I usually end up at www.trickdogbar.com. I have a few cocktails, ogle pretty girls, and sometimes I even get to talk to a few of them. 

I tend to wrap things up around 7. We stop by my friend Hana's place and she feeds us pizza and beers. That's Jolie, she's a sweet heart.

Not every day like this, but the coaching and painting and drinking are just routine now. I like to work hard. I've worked really hard. And I'm really hoping this'll really be alright, because I need it to be. 

I drop Hugo back off at his place and all I really want to do is go out and trick women into sleeping with me. But I've got to work tomorrow.

So there it is, this is about what I do everyday, please don't ask me what I do anymore. I hate talking about it.