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.

Things have been a little bit crazy

I went out to these Vietnamese coffee shops in San Jose with a few friends today. It was a poor excuse just to ogle women in skimpy outfits while we sipped on overpriced iced coffees. The first two places were pretty miserable. The overall vibe was pretty creepy. All the other customers were in the late 30s or 40s and by customers I mean creepy old dudes. None of the waitresses would even make eye contact or say hi. They merely took our orders and sashayed away, the flaws on their skin covered by the neon lights and blaring music.

It was okay I suppose, I definitely got quite a bit done. Things have been a little bit crazy. Just in the past week I've gotten my postcards, framed my paintings, had them shot. And here I was in the dingy Vietnamese coffee shops drawing little personalized doodles on my postcards for clients and fans. It's been really busy and I haven't really been able to sleep much lately. Women are starting to warm up to me again and it's nice to revel myself a little bit in that attention.

I'm starting to get pretty burnt out. I called Jode earlier to just talk about things and she told me to take a few days off. My life's been pretty crazy lately and I kind of like it this way. I don't think I'll be taking any days off. I'd be all anxious just being away from the studio.

I went out to an art show on Friday which featured typewriter inspired art with a live set from the artist made of sounds from a typewriter. I wanted to throw up thirty times in my mouth. 

 After the shitty art show I met up with some friends at a lounge downtown which a buddy co owns. We hung out down in the basement and I felt like a goddamn gangster.

 Saturday morning I went to go pick up ammunition at the gun show at the cow palace since there's a massive shortage. It was a nightmare. The line for wholesale ammunition was 5 hours long. I just went and bought retail like a chump.














I also got Zilla some new bandanas from the gun show. He is one handsome mother fucker














Whenever I post pictures of Zilla on Instagram or Twittter of Zilla, he'll always get way more attention than for any other shit I do.

Today I spent the whole day in Vietnamese coffee shops. I drew on my postcards and am shipping them out to fans and clients.

My friend Jenny is trying to launch a company that sells rolling papers which will allows you to custom print images. She told me to shoot her some drawings of dogs and bunnies.

We went to three cafes today and at the last one I made some pretty bad sketches of the waitress and she came by and said "you made my butt look cute."

Personally I just enjoyed the free modeling session.

I left the sketch with my website on the table.

I get a message on my website about 20 minutes after I leave.

She left her number.


My first solo show open May 4th from 6-11 at Book and Job Gallery on 838 Geary Street.

I hope to see all your beautiful faces there.

love,

d

the short, happy life of arthur b. wang

arthur had grown up quite the mama's boy. she doted over him and dressed him in very fancy outfits as a young child and groomed him to be the poised, articulate gentleman he became. his middle name was bernard, but his mother had taken to calling him bernie, which she still does to this day. he was an only child, which meant that he was gorged with all the attention and benefits that parenting could buy. he played tennis and was quite good at it, having been given a scholarship to play for a college on the east coast. he was fairly tall, with straight black hair which he always brushed in with product. he had a thin face with deep furrows which often gave him a discerning look, as if in need of approval.

after college, arthur naturally went to work for his father who was in the automotive industry. the family owned a few dealerships throughout the state and it was an easy fit. arthur was good at what he did and through the powers of nepotism and good ol' american elbow grease, climbed the ranks within the company and was made VP before his thirties. life was good for arthur and his family.

arthur dated here and there throughout his young adulthood, but found no one who he ever felt compatible with. he liked being in relationships, because he dreaded being alone. it was better to have anyone by his side then to have no one. he hated most when they were very much impressed with his loft, or his cars, or any such material thing. as if things weren't hard enough, each girl that he had ever brought home was met with the dissatisfied scowl of his mother.

"bernie i really wish you would meet a nice girl."

"yeah, i know ma."

"what's wrong with my friend's daughter olivia? she's a sweet girl and she's quite successful at what she does."

"she's nice ma, but you can't force something like that."

"oh, but bernie i would so much like for you to meet a nice girl."

arthur always found a way to sabotage his relationships. he never held his ground, because there was no need to. they did nice things for him,  tried to get him in their clasps. but arthur would just fling them away like some trivial, outdated gadget. it was just this endless lull, years passed, women came and went, like pieces of art on rent.

i'm sure it's happened to everyone, seeing someone across the room and instantly connecting through a glance that lasts much longer than it seems. she was like a flash of light, in the company of two gentlemen, each seemingly more eager than the other to win her attention. she divvied herself equally, happy to be at the center or things. they were at a charity ball for something or other. unbeknownst to arthur, lana was a hussy. she had come into the family fortune upon the untimely death of her father when she was just a little girl. her family owned high end boutiques and retail stores which meant she always had a reputation to keep, at least superficially. she kissed boys often, but secretly; she saw men as mere possessions, easily interchangeable, like a new fall wardrobe.

it wasn't as if she didn't want to seek a mate, merely she had yet to find one which fit her lifestyle and standards. she danced with one boy while the other brought her a drink, then she danced with the other. she spun and frolicked in her evening gown all smiles, her hair done up in a casual ponytail, the diamonds and jewelry she wore, conquests from past relationships.

he walked up to her after a number had just ended and asked her name. they shared pleasantries. her two minions watched a few steps away, chatting quietly, with subdued discontent. lana was enthralled by arthur's boldness. arthur was enthralled by lana's smile which crinkled the corners of her eye. they talked about this and that, but mostly because they liked the newness of things. he invited her to a party the following weekend and gave her his card. she called on the following tuesday. lana a creature of very fleeting tastes.

lana had deemed it quite necessary that she wed soon and knew she wanted children before it was too late. she snagged arthur hard and he had not a chance. she got what she wanted, not because she asked for such things, but because she expected them. she had arthur in her palm like a domesticated lap dog.

"what do you think of this dress arthur?" she asked holding up a black cocktail dress to her shoulders.

"that looks terrific, it's a little short though." She answered with a scoff. 

"i think i'll take it," she replied decisively.

"what are we lana?"

"what do you mean?"

"we've been seeing each other awhile now, and i want things to be more official."

"i think things are going great arthur. why would we need to change anything."

"i just want to know that you are mine and nobody else's"

"so what, like change my Facebook status?" she said jokingly. he laughed nervously.

"i know what i want lana, and i want you. i want you to be in my future and someday i'm going to marry you."

lana had been proposed to before, but she was never taken aback. it felt like the right thing at the time so she just went with it.

within two years they were married. they moved into a big house on the coast and had two girls. their lives filled with nannies, parties, dinners out, and worldly travel. the first half decade came and went in a flash and life seemed to have no bounds. but after awhile, it grew to be tiresome and mundane to lana. arthur was a good husband and man, but lana missed the days of passion and fleeting fancies. arthur, on the other hand, was content and fulfilled. he loved the family life and his daughters. the work filled his days, but he lived for his home. he knew that lana was unhappy and afforded her many niceties to try to appease her hunger. but no jewelry or gifts could satiate lana's desires. 

"i can't do this with you anymore arthur."

"lana, please. we've been over this."

"i'm not happy and neither are you. it's been years, we don't belong together."

"what about the girls? what about our family? doesn't that play a part in any of this?"

"we can't keep playing this game arthur. i want out. the girls will be fine it's not like you won't be seeing them anymore."

arthur looked at lana and saw a stranger. before the girls reached kindergarten, the marriage had deteriorated. lana had been seeing other men for over a year now. they divorced on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. arthur knew this was the end of things, but he had tried to hold it together at least for the children.

lana was ruthless and went after everything. at this point, she resented arthur. she resented him for the listless act he would put on in front of guests and company. she resented him for taking up the remnants of her youth. but mostly, she resented him for turning into a puppet, this man who could no longer fend for himself.

and as quickly as things came, they were gone. lana broke arthur. she took the children, took half his pay, and went off away to texas with her new beau. and arthur was left with visitations rights and a sinking feeling that his life had just ended. lana turned the girls against their father making their bi-annual visitations awkward and forced.

arthur turned to the bottle. his work suffered and his parent's were worried. his father told him to take a leave of absence and his mom told him to travel a bit. he was lost and turned further inward. no amount of solace from friend or family could bring him out of his desolate situation. it stayed like this for what seemed in interminable amount of time for arthur. he eventually went back to work, but not with the same tenacity. he grew gaunt and depressed, blaming himself for the divorce, for the way things unfolded, searching for the answers to why his life had taken the turn for the worse.

i suppose that most men of character experience grievous tragedies as our protagonist has. some horrible event in which they think they will never recover. but the days pass, terribly unbearable at first, the memories, doubts, and hurt entrenched in every waking moment. but days turn into weeks, and those into months. that sinking pain turning into a dull annoyance. and as more and more time passes, the old memories fade, new ones are made, and life goes on as it always has. and so it did for arthur.

"how are you feeling these days bernie?"

"i'm good ma, just busy."

"your father's been telling me that you've been playing quite a bit of golf."

"yeah, been at it for a few months now."

"that's good bernie. have you talked to the girls?"

"yeah, last week, i'm trying to get them over for thanksgiving, but i don't know how likely it will happen."

there was a silence before his mother replied. "things will be okay bernie."

"i know ma, thanks."

arthur picked up golf after being sidelined on the tennis courts due to an existing rotator injury from his younger playing days. it was the hardest game he had ever picked up and he dedicated his spare time to his new hobby with reinvigorated determination. as arthur's former confidence grew back, so did the women. he started dating a girl regularly who he was quite fond of. he played golf every week with his pals and things started to fall back into place. his daughters were in high school now and their relationship, although still strained got better as the girls grew older. arthur forgave himself and lana, for there was no longer any place in his hurt for resentment and hate.

it was sunday and arthur was out on the course playing 18 holes with some friends. he laughed and joked, but the game was serious as it always is when there's some money on the line. it had been years since he had felt like this and he was happy. happy to be in the company of friends, happy for the new girl he had in his life, happy that everything was starting to turn around for him. he was stronger, more so than when he was a young man, for going through periods of pain can sometimes be the best thing in life. he didn't shoot to well on the front nine, but was still on par to shoot a personal best.

they were standing on the 13th hole, a par four, dog leg. as arthur set up for his drive, he heard from a distance a group of voices shouting "Fore!" and before arthur could even react he experienced a brilliant flash of white and then a nothingness.

after lana, arthur didn't believe that things would ever be right in his life again. he believed in his heart that lana and his family were his everything, which they were for a brief period in his short life. he never told anyone, but as things had gotten better, he knew that everything was exactly the way they were supposed to be.

as his friends stood over him and called desperately for help. arthur laid listless on the ground on the tee box of the 13th hole, eyes closed  with a strange smile. the ball had struck him exactly on his temple and caused him no pain. it was a one in a million shot, and thus was the short, happy life of arthur b. wang.