The Basement

The Basement

It all started in the basement. I had big dark clouds hanging over me. I had big ambitions of immortality, and other impossible hollow shit. I realized my dreams of a pro sports career had fallen through and I needed something to do. I had lost my path, and I was just kind of fucked up. Something I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older and started teaching is people need a purpose. I am useless without a purpose. We all are. When I went into the basement, I was seeking a purpose. And for some contrived, ego-maniacal reason, I decided mine was to make great art. I didn’t know what to make when I first set out on this path, so I began working in series using freehand automatic drawing; kind of like how I used to doodle in class. At first I was drawn to color and chaotic lines that reeked of energy. When I first set out I used a lot of popular imagery. You can see beginnings of me using found objects in Swagghammer as I am actually using dry-wall as canvas, and incorporate pages from an old Space Jam children's book into the background. You can also see the beginning of my foray into abstract landscapes in heading south, and action painting in a break. This was the beginning of me attempting to reclaim my path through an ascribed purpose.

The basement is a motif I reference frequently in my writing. To me it represents the unseen foundation we all possess; it is intimate, frightening, and unique. The yin and the yang, a collection of identities, a representation, a storehouse of memories. It's purpose is ambiguous from it's outset; it is confined, and hidden, constructed for us, and then acted upon. The basement is a submerged internal space I go to reflect, release, and relinquish.

Mike's Secret Stuff (2014)

A Break (2012)

Going South (2012)

Swagghammer, Center of the Universe (2011)

The basement
I wake up in the basement.Mildew touches my nosetingling the whiskers of my nostrilsCob websEverywhereSo So DirtyDampDecrepitPlace.The dryers too loudThe pipes leakI spy a spider slinking six feet in front of meI don’t flinchHe’s a little guy
The Washer wishes and watches me.
I stare back.