“Maybe 30 seconds, maybe a minute. I’ve never been good at those sorts of calculations. I know we’ll all complain about the absence of light until one day in spring when there is a sudden recognition of what we have gained.
Home is the safest place.
After graduating from high school, I moved out of my parent’s house and converted my apartment into a punk venue. I had a sweet tooth for chaos and longed for rock bottom. Eventually there were too many holes in the drywall that I never learned how to spackle shut, so I moved back home.
As best as I can remember this is how it happened. A hockey puck struck my father’s forehead. I know I threw it, but all I remember is screaming “Leave and never come back.” My mom was in my bedroom, crying for me to stay. I got in my car and started driving, but realized there was nowhere to go. Turning the car around, I sped back down my gravel driveway. I imagined driving straight through the wall and into the kitchen. I imagined a glorious Don Quixote cry for help, but the wall stood still while the car buckled against it.
A week later I arrived at a wilderness rehabilitation program in the middle of the Utah winter. It is all a learning process. I needed to burn down something pretty before I could talk to you. Even still, sometimes I wake up in the morning and forget to shave my beard for months.”
I love what this process does for the artist and can resonate with his intent. His process and artwork shows the effect of love and what it can do in his life when it come to healing and self evaluating.
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