Turning 30

I started my summer off with a death. My Uncle John passed away this past June due to health complications after having gone through open heart surgery. I travelled back promptly to Taiwan to be with my family and tried to be strong even though inside I felt like a child again. It was hard to see my aunt and her family's grief and mostly I tried to be a man although it's hard to define what that really means. 

My Uncle was one of the funniest and most charismatic people I have ever known and although he is gone I still carry along the lessons, conversations, and love that he imparted on me throughout my childhood and life. It made me think about my own father and time. How much time has passed and how very precious relationships and experiences are. How careless I've been as a young adult in my 20's and how bullheaded and arrogant my attitudes were with family and those who truly mean something. It was a rough way to start the summer, but it grounded me in a lot of ways. To realize what is truly important. To understand that time is always fleeting.

“People living alone get used to loneliness.” 

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night

I've always thought that I could make it own my own. Any problems or mishaps that occurred in my life could be taken care of by myself. I thought I didn't need anyone. I was a lone wolf, solitary, independent. But I was wrong. Over the last few years I had been self-medicating pretty hard and I never thought that things were out of control, but I was definitely not there. I was hiding behind a wall of drugs, alcohol, and denial. 

I surrounded myself with people that weren't positive and who I thought were my friends. Really I was just stuck living the same lie I had been for the past decade. I did not really try my first year in grad school. I skated by, I deflected when I needed to, and I was never fully engaged. I had always thought that I could just coast by in life.

I went through an entire year of therapy. There certainly were times when sI felt like it was a complete waste of time. I set up meetings on Monday morning so it was literally what started my week. It certainly wasn't fun, but it allowed me to talk about things which I had kept hidden and buried for so long. And when it was all out in the open, things weren't really that bad. I knew that I had to make a change in my life, I had to cut out some friends, I had to cut out the drugs, and I had to engage.

This summer has been quite extraordinary for me. I feel like a new person. I feel alive. I feel good. Maybe a lot of it has to do with the fact that I am turning 30 in less than a week. Maybe a lot of it has to do with the fact that I am in a very healthy and stable relationship with a beautiful girl. Maybe a lot of it has to do with cutting out vices and negative influences in my life. I don't think that it  is any one particular thing, but I do know that I have made a change, and certainly for the better.

Going to grad school has been one of the best decisions I have ever made. It has surrounded me with people who have not only also invested their lives in art, but are productive and encouraging of my work and my mental well-being. I know now that I am no longer a lone wolf in a landscape, but have friends, family, and a supportive girlfriend standing by my side. I know now that things are possible and that the dark times are over. Although there will be other hardships that arise as life progresses, I won't have to deal with them on my own.

I am done looking back at the past, I want to keep moving forward. I want and know that the path that I have chosen has been right. And even in the end, if I am not successful, I will have given it that shot and maybe that's the gift in itself.

I have a show coming up this Friday at Arc Gallery (1246 Folsom Street, SF). I will be there at 7pm if you want to stop by and say hello. Things are looking on the up and up and I could not be more excited for this next chapter in life.

Everyone's got problems

Going to grad school involves going to classes and reading and writing about shit that you don't necessarily care about. It's not that I don't care, it's just that I'm pretty apathetic to it all besides the actual painting. "You've really got to make the most out of this experience," one of my advisers keeps telling me. "I can only try to help you so much. You can't just keep living in your own world, you've gotta expand and look at other artists." I completely agree.

We had open studios at cca a few weeks ago:

 I try to not even talk much during critiques anymore. One of my teacher's said that I had to learn to not be as "flippant". Another said that "I have no taste, and that this graffiti, street, stuff is played out." But to each their own really.














Besides getting my ass handed to me at school, I've been able to supplementing my income over the last six months by buying and selling old crap and gambling. It's not that most prestigious way to make some cash, but it's nice to know that I can make some decent picks. The vintage stuff is mostly women's accessories, jackets, and jewelery. The gambling might just become a problem. I know that no one stays in the positive forever. And it's about control. And control is something I'm still trying to learn.

For one of my classes we have to attend two open public meetings. The first "meeting" I went to was $1 days at Golden Gate Fields(obviously, it was really for me more than anything), to which my teacher said that my second meeting had to be free. I choose to go to Gamblers Anonymous, although I think AA would have been appropriate. (All names have been changed.):

    It was 7pm on a Monday evening and I had been having whiskey sodas while watching basketball games I had placed several large wagers on.  I met my bookie Alex through a mutual gambling friend. We met once a week at a nondescript burger joint in San Mateo to settle my account. Alex hasn't been his usual cheery, affable self since my month long hot streak.

    I found the GA meeting through the website directory which located the closest meeting to my house. It was only one town over in a Presbyterian Church in Room #201. Having arrived at the Church, I walked into the main chapel which was being occupied by a Boy Scouts of America ceremony. It had been raining and my sneakers squelched every step I took. I asked a grown man in a Boy Scout uniform  where 201 was and he pointed upstairs and to the left.

    Room 201 turns out to be the Sunday School Children's room. I am greeted by Adam who is the person in charge of the GA meeting. Adam wears glasses and a polo tucked in, a large gold band on his wedding finger. He shakes my hand and asks me if it's my first meeting. He then gives me a handful of literature and pamphlets. He returns to setting up children's chairs in a semi circle around a table with John, who is the secretary for the meetings. John is in his 50s and bald, sporting a thick mustache. He is short, thin, and twitchy. He would later announce several times that it was his 17th year addiction free and that they would be having a get together on thursday replete with coffee and snacks.

    Adam takes his place behind the table, giving him a more "official" role as meeting director. Eventually we are joined by two other men and three women. Adam then bangs his hand on the children's table like a gavel to call order to the meeting. I tried not to laugh audibly. Adam reminded us that GA meant that all members and their stories remain only within the room. The first half of the meeting consisted of going around in a circle and reading out sections in a yellow pamphlet. I felt like I was in grade school again.

    I consciously made an effort to seem defeated, I didn't want them to think I didn't belong. We went round and round reading out of the yellow pamphlet. There was a question section where 7 out of 20 affirmative answers confirmed that you were a degenerate, compulsive gambler. I easily doubled the score. After the reading section we are told to break for five minutes, but not before a collection plate was passed around. "Our group meetings are self-sustained and funded" Adam reminded us while we all reached for our wallets.

    The second portion of the meetings is the sharing section. Everyone gets to go around the circle and share any thoughts, stories, or just to talk in general. John talked on and on forever about nothing and then reminded everyone about his party. Adam admitted that if he were ever to gamble again he would bet everything he had. A man in his mid 30s had just went past 90 days. An older mexican women relapsed and promised it wouldn't happen again. A man with a family said that he had been sneaking out all hours of the night to get his fix on. And then it was my turn.

"Hi my name is Daniel and I'm a compsulsive gambler."

"Hi daniel" they returned.

"I guess when you kind of grow up around gambling, you just don't really see anything wrong with it. It's just a way of life, something that's normal. And I guess it's not until you're a little bit older that you experience a lot of the perils. And sometimes those things get out of control. And things have been getting a little out of control recently. And I guess that's why I'm here."

They all clapped for me while I lied through my teeth. Adam picked up a special keychain and passed it around the circle. It was my official token into the group. Adam slammed his hand on the table again to announce the end of the meeting. John stopped me on the way out and dribbled on about GA and the importance of coming to the second meeting. He reminded me again of his party. I shook his hand and tried to muster a smile. Adam thanked me for coming and said he hoped to see me soon. He reminded me that his number as well as other sponsors were readily available if I felt like relapsing.
The buzzer on my phone goes off. It's a text message from my bookie Alex.

"You're down _____ this week, should we meet at the usual place?"

I suppose everyone's got problems.