A long time ago, I liked to draw pictures, paint, and make things from other things…then one day, I got scared to be a “Starving Artist” and I ran far, far away from anything that even remotely looked like it could have anything to do with art. That was when I was 8 years old.
Why? You ask…well…my mom was (is) an artist. I grew up on handouts, hand-me-downs and “hell no! you can’t have that!” I some how realized that her being an artist was the REASON we were broke, living with my grandparents and always digging through sofa cushions for change…
After many months and much arguing between my mom and my grandparents, my mom finally found a enough change in the cushions and a job with a regular pay check big enough to buy a house! I was so excited to have my own room! I drew a few pictures one day and really enjoyed myself…then…my mom quit her job, sold most of what we had and sent me to my grampa’s house to ask for food.
My Grampa told me, “If you want to make it in this world, you have to sweat, bleed and pay taxes like the rest of us!” So when I was 10, he handed my a sledge hammer and told me to work if I wanted to eat! I did…I shoveled walks in the winter, and mowed lawns all summer. I helped my mom pay the utility bill and bought my own shoes. I was workin my butt off for $10 here and $5 there. Then, we lost the house anyway…what a bummer…
We moved into a crappy, subsidized apartment and my mom went to school to study Commercial Art. My Grampa said she needed to find a way to make doing art profitable. So while my mom went to school to learn how to make money with art, I hung out in the projects with a bunch of pot heads and hookers and learned how to roll a joint, slide on ice while holding on to a car bumper and that red porch lights mean Veronica is busy!
…this looks like its gonna be longer than one post worth…I’ll start puberty in the next post!