8 Days (팔일)

Ghosts in the Studio (스튜디오의 유령)

I don’t particularly get along with people for long periods of time. I am pretty choosy about the people I spend my time with because most people tend to annoy me after about an hour. It’s probably the leading reason I can’t seem to keep a relationship for longer than a year. I’m not sure whether it’s because other people are boring or the other way around, I have never spent much time trying to figure it out. I don’t engage much in small talk or banter, unless it’s a situation which brings me some sort of social benefit, but I think that’s most people. I think that’s why Hak and I get along so well, we don’t really have to talk to figure things out.

Hak lands late Friday afternoon and is planning on staying for 8 days. I pick him up at the airport and he is wearing black boots, jeans, and a t shirt. “The weather here is much nicer than Seoul” he says as we drop off his bags at my house. Our first stop is the studio. I have gotten most of the essential materials, but tell him we will stop by the art store first thing in the morning tomorrow. Some friends stop by to say hello and we head out to a swanky little beer bar across the street from Dolores Park. There is a girl there who I used to see, but it’s nothing that a few drinks can’t fix.

We take a bar brawl down through Valencia to my favorite haunts: Elbo Room, Skylark, and finally Casanova. Me and Hak break off from the group and head over to Panchitas for some papusas. I can tell that the travel is catching up to him so we say goodbye to the group and we head back home for the night. We wake up on Saturday and go straight to work. The next week goes by like clockwork. Breakfast, studio, lunch, studio, dinner, studio. 

Quarter life Slump (분기 생활 슬럼프) 29x24 Mixed Media on Canvas

I ask Hak if there is anything special he wants to see, “Maybe the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“No, no. I didn’t see the Golden Gate Bridge while I lived here. I just want to hang out and paint.”

It was the answer I was hoping for. Although we live in different countries and speak different languages, our lives have taken very similar trajectories. We are both single and in our 30s. We have taken blue collar and menial jobs in order to survive. We don’t seem to be able to hold down steady relationships. But we are free in a way that most people are not.

We pick up where we last saw each other in Korea. The pace we work at is set to hectic. We are intending to finish 8 pieces during his stay, one complete piece for each day. I’ve always seen the way we work as improvisational jazz, a layering of distorted scales and vibrant color palettes, layered style over style until we deem the piece complete. Gesso, house paint, pastels, charcoal, acrylics, and oil paint. It is a constant flux of creation and destruction, building up and tearing down.

Exile (망명) 36x24 Mixed Media on Canvas

“How are things going back in Korea?”

“They are good. I’m going to apply to grad school this winter and I'm going to quit my bartending job. I want to dedicate my time fully to painting.”

“No new girlfriends?”

“No, sometimes girls try to talk to me at the bar or leave their phone numbers. I’ve just started to tell them I’m gay so that they leave me alone. What about you?”

“No, I don’t really have time right now, but my Mom bothers me about it every time we talk. When she asks when I’m going to have a grandchild I just ask her what nationality she would like.”

Man from Seoul (서울 출신의 남자) 36x24 Mixed Media on Canvas

We head out to burritos for like the 10^th time. Afterwards we stop by Hak’s friends place in the Tenderloin. A____ is a young painter still in school and has lofty dreams of moving to New York after school. His studio is like many artist studios I have visited in the Tenderloin, drenched in stale cigarette smoke, rows of empty liquor bottles, and a kitchenette doubling as a work space. He rolls up a joint and passes it around. It is a place that dreams are made and crushed, some place both Hak and I have been before. The young artist’s studio is a lonely and sacred place filled with uncertainty. We talk about life and art and school and the people we know.

“Just stick with it and you’ll be okay A____.” It’s the same advice I’ve been given a million times.

The last few months of my life have been fairly chaotic. There have been several curveballs thrown my way and I seem to always load up and swing at nothing but air. Hak’s visit is a welcome reprieve to my daily routine and the anxieties which plague my mind. When we paint together, all I really focus on is the next move, the next painting. A culmination of all the skills I have acquired and have yet to learn. It is a familiar place, a place I am comfortable, the need to produce under restraints and a tight deadline. It feels good to know that I have an art brother who’s going through the same exact things as I am across the sea.

5 Days Left to Go (떠난지 5 일 남았습니다) 36x24 Mixed Media on Canvas

We head out to the MoMa, we visit the De Young, and we stop by several gallery shows. Friends, family, and collectors stop by and say hello at the studio. We eat more burritos than I am happy to admit and the work comes fast and easily. We talk about the work during breaks, about the composition, layout, and balance. We talk about things that we intend to do or sometimes we just do them. We stop when we need to and we smoke too many cigarettes.

I’ve come to realize that there are no easy ways through life. As I grow older and life continues, there are only more responsibilities and more constraints. Life becomes a fight between work and personal life. And the older I get, the only certainty is death. A life of memories only dictated by what you put into it. The painting will be made no matter what, good or bad, it is the process and the time in between that really counts.

The week passes by quickly and soon enough the week is up. We stop by the studio one last time. We touch up, measure, sign, and name the paintings. We head over to Hak’s favorite Thai place in the Tenderloin for our last meal. I’m just glad it isn’t Mexican.

Flower Curtain (꽃 커튼) 30x24 Mixed Media on Canvas

“Did you enjoy your stay here? I’m sorry that we didn’t do more fun stuff.”

“It was the perfect trip, I did everything I wanted to do.”

We go back home and he packs up his stuff and I drop him off at the airport. I tell him I’ll try to sell the paintings as best I can, but you can never really tell with these things.

“Don’t worry about that. The paintings are good.”

“I’ll try to take a trip out to Korea next summer.”

“Ok. Thank you for everything Daniel. I will see you soon.”

The Artists in the Studio (스튜디오의 아티스트)

When I get home, the house is filled with sounds of celebration. My brother has invited friends and family over for his birthday and there is a feeling of warmth and comfort. It feels good to be done with the long week of endless painting. I have a flight to catch myself later that night and I settle in to some whiskey and banter. I hug and chat with friends, some who I’ve known for my whole life and it makes me happy to be in their company.

It might be the whiskey talking, but I feel overly sentimental and have a conversation about my personal life with a friend, something which rarely happens.

“What happened to S_____?”

“Nothing, just didn’t work out.” I pause for a moment. “Sometimes people just want different things. I love her to death, but it’s just not the way things were meant to be.”

“I thought you guys would work it out, you seemed to want things to work out. You’ve never tried particularly hard in relationships, until it was with her.”

I don’t know how to particularly reply to so I just say something stupid like, “There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

Waiting in Ambush (매복에서 기다리고있다) 48x36 Mixed Media on Canvas

I tell my brother “happy birthday”, grab my bags and a friend drops me off for my redeye. I have another whiskey at the airport bar and barely make it through takeoff. I wake up in a different country, in a different timezone, as a different person.  I make my way to my childhood home and say hello to my parents. We go visit my grandma who’s been in the hospital and not feeling too well. It’s nice to just sit with her while I write this story and reflect on the last few weeks. We don’t speak much, but I know that she likes it when I just sit around with her. She asks if I have a new girlfriend.

“No Grandma, no new girlfriend.”

“What happened to the last girl.”

“We’re still friends.”

“Well, then just forget about it.”

“Ok I’ll do that.”

“You should have a kid soon.”

“That’s not just up to me.”

As I’m sitting here writing this story I get a phone call from a number I haven’t seen in a long time. I step outside and answer the phone.

“Hello Daniel.”

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“I’m in Taiwan, visiting my family. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

In 8 days, so much of life has changed.

Flowers in the Mouth of A Beast (짐승의 입에 꽃) 48x36 Mixed Media on Canvas

Going off the Grid at a Semi-Legal Pot Farm

I reconnected with an old friend, C_____, at a wedding back in September. In high school I was worried about what college I would get into while C______ was nickel and diming his way into the weed business. I had started smoking weed in high school, but never really ever thought about selling the stuff even though I saw all the financial gains many friends made through the risky business. C_____ continued through his career and made it from low level dealer, to distributor, to running several successful grow operations grossing profits in the mid 6 figures per year. He invited me out to a joint venture farm he was involved in out in the hills of Northern California.

“You should come out if you’ve got some time man” he said invitingly, “It’s off the grid, you can shoot guns, BBQ, and help me out here and there.”

“I’m right in the middle of the water polo season, but I’ll drop you a line once the season is over.”

It was one of those things that you just say, but don’t necessarily plan on doing. The thought of living off grid was intriguing, but I really had no conviction of actually making it out there. It was just a passing conversation and I did not think very much of it.

A few months pass and I get a call from C_____.

“Hey man, you still on planning to make it out?”

“Last week of water polo, I’ll be wrapping it up on Saturday.”

“Ok well, give me a call then.”

There were a few days which I considered whether or not to make the trip out. There was just the logistics of taking a week off work, getting a sitter for the dog, and other things a responsible adult had to consider. On top of that, there was just the trepidation of what it would be like living in the middle of nowhere on a semi-legal marijuana farm with a bunch of people with guns I didn’t know.

As the season wound down to an end, I thought fuck it and decided to go. It was probably the last time someone would invite me to a pot farm. I needed the break and I really had nothing to lose. Worse case scenario I would be calling my brother to bail me out of jail.  

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I call C_____  for directions and pack enough food and beer for 5 days and make my way up into the California wilderness. The drive itself is not bad until the last 5 miles, which are all backwoods roads which my 4 door sedan is not made for. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that each of those miles were filled with fear and anxiety, both from the road conditions and the situation itself. Luckily, the forecasted rain does not show up and I make it to a padlocked front gate.

Scenic drive to the Farm

“Hey C______, I’m out at the front, can you come grab me?”

After a few minutes, C______ comes charging down the hill towards the gate on an ATV, he smiles while opening the padlock. His beard is weeks old and he is wearing heavy rain boots and gear.

“Dude, good to see you. Can’t believe you made it out.”

“Good to be here man, those last few miles are no joke.”

Home at the Farm

I make my way up the driveway leading into the main camp and park my car alongside a makeshift gravel road. The main camp, which I will call home for the next few days, consists of an RV, a port-o-potty, a cargo container, a makeshift kitchen, and a weed processing tent. The hum of a generator will be the backdrop hum for the weekend.  C_______ introduces me to some of the other people in the camp. The first person I meet is K_______ who is the owner of the property and farm. He is in late 50s with a peppered beard and glasses. As I shake his hand I notice that he is carrying a black handgun on his waistband. “Welcome to the farm!” He says warmly. My blood pressure creeps up a few ticks. Besides that, the scenery is beautiful. I am in the middle of the wilderness and I reassure myself that this is exactly what I wanted to experience.

C______ shows me around and instructs me to sit in the cargo seat at the front of the ATV. He guns it up the mountain to the second camp which houses another processing tent and the future site of their greenhouse grow op. I meet A____ who is the engineer and maintenance man of the farm, he is young, bearded, and full with excitement. I imagine myself at that age living in a situation like this.

View from the top camp

There is a pervasive smell of weed everywhere on the 44-acre property. The top camp which sits on top on a hill offers an undisturbed view for hundreds of miles. C_____ points out neighboring farms which are dotted throughout the landscape. He tells me that there was a wildfire caused by AT&T last year which wiped out hundreds of acres in the county. The fire forced the county to allow several emergency permits to recoup losses and was the one of the driving reasons that the farm came to fruition.

I hop back on the ATV and we head down to the bottom of the property which houses the outdoor grow operation. There I meet J_____ who is the head farmer and oversees the plants and growing. The outdoor grow houses hundreds of plants, some the size of a Fiat. The amount of plants is staggering. We head back up to the main camp and it starts to rain.

View of the Bottom Camp

“Do you mind helping me with some trimming?” C____ asks. C_____ shows the process of “deboning”. Taking a large branch of marijuana, he deftly snips off small branches and carefully plucks off small nugs and throw them into a large black container. “You don’t have to make them perfect, we have amachine up top which will trim off all the excess leaves and branches.” There are dozens of bins all filled to the brim. The work is unending. The rain picks up outside. There are 4 other trimmers all at their work stations, some with earphones and others chatting. The work is hard and monotonous, each bin takes about an hour or two to finish. There are about 20 bins, not including what is drying in the cargo containers.

After a few hours it is dusk. I go to my car and bring out a few beers. I brought a large pack of flank steak and decide to share it with everyone. C____ asks me if I want to take a hit of a large joint he’s just rolled but I decline, maybe it wasn’t the best time for me to quit smoking weed. After years of paying for the stuff, I’m now declining it when there are hundreds of pounds of it surrounding me.

The first night’s dinner is a simple spaghetti and steak in the rain. The forecast says that it will last throughout the next day, but I don’t really mind it. I try to light a fire, but the firewood is too damp and there’s no point to wasting too much fuel to get it going. I dig into a few more beers as everyone moves back into the processing tent for a few more hours of work. Around 11:30, people start packing it in. Some people sleep in their cars while the rest head into  RVs spread throughout the farm. The rain starts coming down hard, a few claps of thunder in the distance.

“It’s only supposed to get worse tomorrow.”

C____ shows me the RV where I will be sleeping in. It is a simple couch/cot and luckily I had the foresight to bring an extra sleeping bag. It is certainly not the tidiest or well-run camp I’ve ever been in, but I am too tired to think about the safety and health conditions before drifting quickly into a dreamless sleep.

I wake up early to raindrops spattering on the window. Only K_____ is up and we chat for a bit while I get eggs, sausages, and bacon going on the outdoor grill. I ask him why he’s decided to get into the weed industry so late in his life.

K____ 's gun sitting nonchalantly on the bed

“Well, I’ve owned this property for years and just wanted to monetize it. I’ve been in real estate my entire career and am thinking about selling my business soon. I started looking into weed, because I’ve started to develop Parkinson’s. I got this property a decade ago and wanted to put it to some good use to it.  I met C______ through his father and we have kind of just taken it from there.”

“So you and C______ have been working on this for awhile?”

“Yeah, since about February of last year. The only thing is with C______ 's pending court cases. You know about those right?”

“Yeah C_____ filled me in.”

C______ and J______ had their 3 warehouses in the East Bay raided by county police and they are currently facing 10 felony charges between the two of them. They have chosen to double down on their business and set up camp out in the wilderness. Since the farm is permitted through the county,  it is technically legal for the growing and processing of marijuana. Dependent on the result of the vote on Prop 64 (legalization of recreational pot), C_____ and J______'s outstanding felony counts would be dropped if the proposition passes. However, the prices for black market growers would completely bottom out.

High Grade California Outdoor Marijuana

One of several cargo containers used for drying

Bins of weed before they hit the processor

Production tent of the California green rush

Most of the next few days are pretty monotonous. Wake up, eat, work, eat, work. I learn how to operate a chainsaw. C_____ and J______ chop down plants and start the drying process. I learn how to ride an ATV.  They take down the already dried product and send it off to the trimmers in the processing tent. I learn how to operate a lever action rifle. They take the trimmed nugs and move them to the top tent to be finished in a fancy machine. I learn how most guys on the farm are staunch Trump supporters. They bag up the product and it's ready for transport. At one point the rainstorm gets so wild that the wind rips a drying tent right from its supports. 

I witnessed one altercation between J_____ and A______ which almost boiled over into a fist fight and knowing that there was alcohol, drugs, and guns around didn't help the situation. In the end, things were resolved civilly and no other disputes arose during my stay.

 C______ has one of the trimmers remove some stitches out of his shoulder from a previous surgery.

Everything is 3x times amount of effort trying to farm in the rain. C______ lets me know that the shower stopped working. I make dinner because I don't trust anyone else preparing my food. As the days go on, I settle into the routine and the labor. The work makes me feel strong. I consider what it would be like if I just stayed here on the farm. I sleep with ease from the hard outdoor work. Everything outside of the Farm and the problems I deal with on a day to day basis are toned down to a dull background noise. Marijuana has flourished in California as the new gold rush for the past two decades and is on the precipice of legalization. 

Country stew and pan fried chicken for dinner

"Do you want Prop 64 to go through?" I ask C______ during dinner.

"There's two sides to it. I'm hoping it doesn't go through, it would really kill independent operations like the one we have here."

"At least your charges get dropped though."

"Even if we got convicted, I'm sure I would spend a few months in jail and have probation for a few years." He said it with ease like as if he were planning a trip.

California Hills at dusk

As my days wind down, thoughts of reality settle back into my thoughts. The rain subsides and the land bristles with life. On the last day we take out the guns down to the valley to knock out a few rounds. One of the guys grills a tri-tip and I polish off the rest of the beer. K______ brings out a handle of vodka and J_____ lights a large fire. Joints are rolled and passed around. The night sky is illuminated with stars unpolluted and unmolested. 

"How did you enjoy your time on the Farm?" K_______ asks he in-between shots. 

"It was great, I wouldn't mind staying out here if I didn't have commitments back home."

"I think you fit well here. You work hard and if you're ever open to it, I would love to have you here on a longer basis."

"Thanks K______, I'll have to go back home and mull that over."

I've always romanticized about living out in the wilderness.

The next morning I wake up and say goodbye to the people I've met. I leave a sketch with A______, the engineer and he says that he'll frame it up. I thanks C_____ for the invitation. "You're welcome back anytime" he replies. I make one last round on the ATV, smiling the entire way around the property. Despite the anxieties that kicked in everytime a low flying plane or helicopter passed overhead, the time out in the wilderness were peaceful.

I drive the 5 miles out of the back country roads and back into civilization and the city. I feel a natural calm like the few seconds of daze  after you've taken a blow to the head. I pull up outside a random steakhouse and decide to treat myself to lunch. I think about the people I've met and how they're just earning money to support their families and lives. The people on the farm are working and living off the land. Of course having a product which is monetized through the black market comes with greed, the threat of violence and high stakes. The Farm in the end is a business a business that could dramatically change with the Prop 64 bill.

 I tear into my ribeye and enjoy just sitting down and hearing the chatter of people. I think about life and the possibility of moving out into the wilderness. If my art career doesn't pan out I guess there's always a job for me in the California mountains.