Calling myself an Underground Artist is the easiest way to say "I do my shit without your influence". Too many people try to dissect it's meaning to match an outdated narrative. If you make art you're an artist. If you look to define what art is - you're not. Be yourself and go. Compete only with yourself. Draw better. Paint better. Just for you, everything outside of yourself is out of your control.

Art is selling yourself. You're speaking for you. You don't have to find your voice, you just need to create and keep creating. No one can represent you better than yourself. It's a journey not a destination.

In 2006 I lost my fiance, my apartment, and what was left of my sanity was swallowed by a sea monster in Lake Erie. I rode a train from Cleveland to Oakland with my computer, a Criswell Predicts CD and a VNV Nation CD. I lived in a house that resembled the Paper Street Fight Club house and slept on a mattress discarded by the previous sex working tenant. I answered an ad I found on Craigslist "I own a TV. I eat meat. Room mate wanted". Fear, desperation and poverty burned through my blood like acid. The friends I have in the Bay Area mostly abandoned me after my move to Cleveland. I was fucked, helpless, and flailing. Every attempt I had at finding work withered and dried up. It felt hopeless.

Then I answered a message through MySpace. "I own a gym, would you like to show art there?". His name was Chip Conrad and he ran Bodytribe in Sacramento. I thought "Even if I end up buried under a porta pottie from a serial killer it's still a show!". Previous to this my only 'shows' had been at Gyro's House of Terror (A Halloween Haunt at our local fairground), Goth / Industrial clubs, Bondage Clubs, and The Cactus Club in San Jose making visual backdrops for bands.

In Sacramento it was easy to be a big fish in a small pond. Everyone knew everyone and we'd all piggyback each other's shows. Eventually there was enough of us we that started The Scary-Art Collective, which grew from local to international artists.

Sacramento has a cool college town full of blue-haired, tattooed rockabilly / punk /hipster / whatevers all flocking to the 2nd Saturday art walk. We had just 4hrs a month to sell everything and we hustled hard! My pockets were full of what felt like stripper money! Just pockets of crumpled cash. We all foot peddled and networked. It was a great time for all of us.

Mind you I was terrified inside. I was an introvert that created an extrovert personality out of survival. I HAD to talk to people. HUNDREDS of people. My Kung Fu went from garbage to flawless. There's no better sink or swim arena than talking to people from all walks of life, different cultures all in rabid fire succession. My ADHD and PTSD weren't diagnosed yet, so once a month I burned through adrenaline as if I drank gallons of it through a beer bong. When it ran out I was a lifeless puppet. I'd go home and self medicate myself into oblivion and get ready to do it again next month.

My 1st show with Chip people either loved or hated me. No in between. It was they either hated my work because it wasn't traditional or a landscape or they LOVED it because it wasn't. It was different. It was 'fun'. I liked their disappointment in me because now I had something to rebel against. Sure, I had my dad, the arm chair critics, even other artists say "You'll never make it". Now the art world showed up to my show to dismiss my ass? Fuck no! Now I'm taking your planet!

Even with a garbage self esteem I wasn't about to let anyone roll me. My inner punk was like "I never asked for this fight but I'm in!". So it began. I networked the planet the whole time remaining an Underground Artist. I made it my life's goal to get my art into every home next to the TV and over 3,000 pieces later I'm on my way. I also recognized how backwards the art world's thinking is. Most high end galleries alienate people from owning original art. I cater to them. Something I got shit on a lot by both galleries and curators. I still hold my ground today. My empathy outweighs greed.

My art is me as much as being left handed or having brown eyes. So my career should be too. My ADHD and PSTD are under control now but they never were really in the way of me. I was. I believed in my art but not myself because I had 200 voices telling me what I should be doing instead of what I was doing. When you lack confidence in yourself you can be railroaded into shitty deals with shitty people. Fame, recognition, money, are all fleeting. Only you can decide what's good for you. Tell your story through art. All selling to celebrities and films do is give me a retort to quiet people after they ask me what I do for a living. The every day weirdos impact my life more.