Before moving to New York I always dreamt of making it big, my childhood dream of being a painter/sculptor, I’ve always been an artist and I never stopped. I would make clay sculptures for my mom at the age of 6 in art school and she would keep them by the sink I loved the irregularities of my work. By 13 painting was becoming a rich sport and I couldn’t keep up.
I would think of this at the age of 24 while walking eight to twenty-two little to big stinking dogs. The smell of one of those canines letting loose and dificating in front of me in the indoor playpen kept me from dreaming those dreams. One day I walked into work and was told I didn’t give Sam any water, which I knew was a lie because I loved Sam. I told the manager “you’re a lier” and I was “terminated” that same day.
On my way walking home from work a blue charger pulls up next to me with tinted windows that roll down slightly. I can faintly see two people in the car, the driver leans over to ask me ”Hey you got some of that, y’know?“ why you ask, I replied. “Oh I see you have a staff shirt on, and thought maybe you worked at the strip club”, what a wild peculiar assessment I thought; Well I did just lose my job on false pretenses and I have rent due so what do I have to lose “Yeah I’ll be back hold on”. I ran upstairs in this old duplex where I was staying in a fairly old but posh neighborhood in Charlotte, Dilworth area thanks to my music career. I get in the car and I started getting asked all these questions about Jesus. I knew what the driver meant but It was getting too distracting and the passenger kept flirting with me I just wanted a smooth transaction to pay rent. I go down this route for a couple months until I become too paranoid about losing my way, my dream of being a painter, to continue that life. It felt like that dog job ”Man if I’m going to put up with mental and emotional abuse from shady business practices I should just follow my childhood dream!!” I said to myself.
A few paintings sold later and I’m finally moving away from home with no job and five thousand dollars I saved on the merit of my own artistic work and it felt really great, although it was highly unstable and inconsistent pay I had a devil may care attitude at this point. So I arrive in New York via Megabus in cold rain with an overstuffed black rolling luggage bag full of my clothes, folded up canvases of my paintings and two pairs of shoes. I had a wooden suit case filled with all my supplies and wow was this the coldest spring I ever felt. I finally get to the place I began calling the tentant, no answer, then I get a call back. The landlord sold my room we agreed on the day I was moving into it!! I was so enraged I was filled with so much anger I had such a visceral hole in my chest I yelled whatever I wanted in the street and kicked trash towards pigeons and rodents. No one gave a shit about me so I no longer did neither. The only thing that calmed me down was saying “You’ve been here before” repeatively to myself in the middle of the streets of West village. So I go from Airbnb to Airbnb wasting money until I landed a place in Brooklyn. Went out to Brooklyn at about 9am to meet, with the lowest expectations for my own well being. I looked around and said to myself “I could create some crazy shit in here”. So I Immediately made moves to get out of the Airbnb friendzone and moved in. Getting settled was tough though the first thing I did was unpack all my artwork to carefully check for damages, it felt like I was holding ancient papyrus, and I nailed them to the walls with Coltrane blaring in the background “yeah New York, I’m here now”. My room was a solid 30 degrees Fahrenheit with no heater or sheets on my bed. So I just slept with all my clothes or went out to bars to see If I was lucky enough to go back to a lovely ladies place with a space heater. So yeah buy my book/ watch my film if you would like hear/see more.