Category Archives: story

The Shower Scene – A Gallery Story

I want to say upfront that this is just one story from my life, and not a commentary on the gallery system as a whole. My personal experience with “traditional” galleries has ranged from lackluster to unethical (and possibly illegal, but I’ll get to that in a second.) I do not believe they’re all like that. I’m very open-minded about galleries. I’ve simply had great success and enjoyment representing myself, and doing so is not a reaction to anything negative as much as it is a belief in doing something positive.

But anyway.

When I was starting out professionally, I heard from a number of people within the local art scene that I was ready for my own show. So I went out and got one. The gallery I’d found was up and coming, an offshoot of a more successful gallery nearby. The owner (we’ll call him Shawn) was an artist himself, and sold a great deal of work, all at higher end prices, with a pretty significant and growing following in the area. He liked my work, and immediately offered me a show. After securing a date, I heard from fellow artists that although his art “was a bit formulaic,” he seemed to be a fantastic businessman. The openings I attended in the months leading up to my show were lively events.

When I arrived at the gallery the morning of my own show to set up, I could sense a weird and unexpected attitude from Shawn. He was cold and unhelpful. He abruptly announced that I couldn’t use blacklights, a fairly integral part of my art, despite seeming enthusiastic about them a few weeks prior. He further informed me that I wouldn’t have access to half the space I was promised, because another artist was using it. When I firmly explained the necessity of the blacklights, he finally told me I could use a small room through a hall and in the back for this purpose.

I was determined to keep a good attitude about things. Continue reading

The sum of all your capabilities – 2nd illustration of The Waitress series

The Waitress Series by artist Jessica Doyle and writer Christopher DeWan

This is the second illustration in the ongoing collaborative project between myself, Jessica Doyle and writer, Christopher DeWan. You can see the first illustration in the previous blog post. There will be between 18 and 24 illustrations in all. I have bolded the section of text from the story below that is illustrated in the art above. Continue reading

It happened out of the blue

Anyone who sells on Etsy and has posted within the promotions section of that site’s forum also knows that within 23 seconds flat your promo post will be 6 pages deep within that section.

If you are lucky, someone else will post an item related to your item and your thread will be bumped to the top of page one again and so on and so forth to that special five post long page one visible from the homepage of the Etsy forums.

Tonight, I met babybaubbles and novelartanddesign along with a few other stray avatars. Together, we created a story and Jerry was the star of the event!

Be sure to click every link and read every line. I guarantee you will laugh out loud at least once!

Before tonight I had never spoken to either of these sellers. Novelartanddesign I had known of but had not formally been introduced to.

I love you guys!

About picking caterpillars off friends

You stare. It stares. It begins.

The bugs march to and fro throughout this dwelling high and low. Be
ware deviants.

So much paper. Must be cleaned. How does one clean paper? Sweep it?

Pest control arrived and delivered the chemical.

Dousing nooks and crannies. Angry? Yes.

Angry at you? No.

Dealing with a nuisance.

You know, I didn’t grow up with Cockroaches and Bed Bugs. They had been annihilated fifty years earlier. They’re the nightmare nursery rhyme come to life that Dad used to sing when tucking me in for bed at age 8.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite…” and his voice trailed off and I wondered about bed bugs crawling on me. Don’t get me wrong, I lived through my share of mosquito infestations, no-see-ems, black flies, army worms, locust plague, red salt water jellyfish attacks and lets not forget the giant black flying ants that only hatch or grow wings, once every three to five years for 24 hours infestation. That’s it. You run for the nearest shelter. Once they land they crawl; they mate and die.

Oh that’s a pretty one.

Daily we picked caterpillars out of each other’s hair. All the girls in the neighborhood had long waist length hair. We were tomboys. We watched all the fruit trees die in our neighborhood three times while in elementary school. All the families began wrapping tin foil around trunks of any species of tree the worms preferred for diet. They were always falling on our heads from trees. Plunk. Awah – hey look at this one; it’s special. There were pretty ones that stood out when sidewalks, roads, driveways, lawns, rooftops, trees and walls from the millions scavenging green vegetation surrounding you. Those hundreds, were pastel and vibrant hued caterpillar creatures. The butterflies were gorgeous during those years.

Nature was stakeholder with the above masses. Bed Bugs are not so. These bugs are human engineered and nature has no part in either their lives or deaths.

The city IS their natural environment.

I could never figure out WHY people from the city would freak jumping up and down when around mosquitoes or black flies OUTSIDE. Moments later, their skin’s surface blotchy with red patches from bites or stings. Right now I freak as they did except INSIDE and squirm around and whack anything that moves with paper or hand.

Time to buy a swatter and fight.

Adapted from Anonymous – Do you respond or react?

My comments after the story.

I walked with a friend to the newstand the other night and he baught a paper, thanking the newsie politely. The newsie didn’t even achnowledge it.

“A sullen fellow isn’t he?” I commented.

“Oh he’s that way every night,” shrugged my friend.

“Then why do you continue to be so polite to him?” I asked.

“Why not?” inquired my friend. “why should I let HIM decide how I’m going to act?”

As I thougt about this incident later, it occurred to me that the important word was “act”. My friend responds toward people; most of us REACT toward them.

He has a sense of inner balance which is lacking in most of us; he knows who he is, what he stands for, and how he should behave. He refuses to return rudeness for rdueness because he would no longer be in command of his own conduct.

Nobody is unhappier than the constant REACTOR. Their sense of self is not rooted inside themselves where it belongs, but in the world outside them. They allow outside influences to control them, and they, in turn, lose control.

REACTING may give them a feeling of satisfaction, but it is false because it does not last and it does not come from self-approval. Criticism depresses them more than it should because it confirms their own secretly shaky opinion of themselves. Snubs hurt them and the merest suspicion of unpopularity in any quarter rouses them to bitterness.

Peace of mind cannot be achieved until we become the master of our own actions and attitudes. To let another determine whether we shall be rude or gracious, elated or depressed, is to relinquish control over our own personalities. Utimately, our personalities are all we possess. The only true possession is self possession.

I recieved this story while in treatment for addiction and mental health concerns. This season has been as joyous as it is difficult for me. Decisions are damn hard to make. Speaking my mind is even harder. Being completely honest with myself has become a burden; all of which are directly influencing my choices – reactions. Addiction is as real to me at this moment in time as it was one year ago and a year before that… It’s getting harder to say no. I’ve given in to myself twice. I have used twice. When is not important. Just the shame I feel in using and wanting more. I did not use GHB. I used Extasy.

The one choice that saved me this evening is love for myself and hope that the next choice I make will be for love of myself again, nothing else, nothing less.

Being honest with myself is the first step.

CRASH went my computer after hitting the subscribe link on

I have chosen to write a paid post on my blog. The reason this post has been written is because I felt inspired to write a story about something that actually happened…

Beware of possible onslaught and creative aftermath of clicking the orange button.Unintended happenings seem to invade my computer at peak times of usage; that is, personal usage. I like to use my computer. I like to have multiple programs open all at once. Two nights ago while on reviewME reading a little more about this fair site, I clicked the RSS icon within my personal dashboard they provide for you. Rather than seeing a standard XML page or feedburner page my eyes met the standard Firefox download popup window. I chose to open with ___ but it didn’t give me an option of programs to choose from in the dropdown menu.

A couple of seconds later everything in usage froze. That all to familiar turning wheel of digital time-keeping began spinning. I moved it around the screen over Firefox. I thought ok, big file, please, change back to my pointer soon. I clicked F9 to choose another program I had open to work in. It didn’t work. I moved down to the dashboard and noticed the DreamWeaver program was opening. WTF. This XML file was opening DreamWeaver. NO. I don’t keep dreamweaver in my dashboard so I knew. I knew. I knew. I tried to force quit. All frozen. Then my laptop decided to begin the F9 process of shrinking all open working windows from all open programs. It shrunk them and they froze, then dissapeared. During the build, yes I say build for the screen flashed bright blue, then a dark grey blue shade from my desktop picture filled the screen. Little light blue boxes began appearing. One. Two, three… I recognized them. They were my working windows. I hadn’t seen the F9 process take so long before. Dayum.

This is the third snap. My screen stayed this way until I held the laptop's ignition down for 3 seconds. Poof.I waited, got impatient and clicked a light blue box. The box imploded into smaller boxes then began rebuilding itself pixel by pixel. I ran to grab the camera. Ha hahha. ha. Becoming obsessed with this XML.RSS.FEED instigator and pissed at Firefox for feeling it needed to launch such a blasted acronymous file instantaniously opening software. I snapped three pictures.

I sat down, looked forward to the screen and prayed to the digital god named Dorrah that I had, indeed, hopefully saved what I was working on. I had, after the shut-down and restart.

Thank you – Dorrah!

This is where the CRASH story began…

Continue reading

Spread it around, four very very short stories

Over the weekend I was asked to join in a triad of masturbation. A triangle of female heads only visable through a a pre-decided frame. I said yes. Then said no. It’s not what I want. But is this what I want? I desire. I crave not unlike any other for human interaction of the sexual kind. Why is it only in the mind that it persists? Why is not aparent physically? To jump out of ones skin every now and then is needed. It is needed to be able to fucking cum amongst others. Where does the attraction come in or does it resemble a long lost vestibule of carnage only our ancesters were really aware of. Cognitively they new to spread it around. Fuck!

There are voices. I hear voices of my own within my mind. You know, we all do it. We all talk to ourselves from time to time.

I can’t seem to figure out the relation between ship and harbour. Once you do it for someone else does it make it any less significant? Ya do it all the time say. Never doing it for yourself. How do you really do something to yourself? How do you do something to yourself. I think we do. When we only do to ourselves what we do to ourselves we become them. And maybe they don’t really undertsnd what is going on with you. Maybe they can’t see everything that is happening. Maybe all the opinions don’t really matter. Maybe they and them can go and shove it, while the maple leaves fall soggy to the pavement in the midst of entanglement they entwine, combine filtering clear to mirror one another. They are the same.

It’s easy to let reality slip away she thinks. It’s easy to fall and bleed into the ground. It’s easy for blood to trickle upwards in the imagination and easy for him not to see what is happening. This is dismal.

I don’t want to feel obligation. I don’t want to feel guilt. I don’t like experiencing the feeling envy. We all do sometimes, may not want to admit it but we do. Haven’t you ever jumped? Jumped but not landed? I wonder what it feels like to land? I miss many things. Many things of wonder. Many things of unamed pleasures. I feel angry. I feel fear. I feel rage at times even. That is when i don’t land after jumping. Some emotions never hit the ground. They can overwhelm your being.

I kissed them all good night while a white masked soul lay dormant in the moonlight.

I was walking home from the Burlesque show I had been in attendance of and lying on the grass was this man. This man had on a white mask. He had on a white cowboy hat. He was wearing a reddish burgundy plaid shirt and dark navy bluejeans. To top it off he wore some snakeskin cowboy boots. I walked by. Then stoped, flipped around and walked to the man on the grass. He was slumped over laying down heavy upon the ground. Eyes closed with no bodily movement, I say “HEY guy”…

“Hey dude”.
“Buddy”. Ahhhhhhhh.

I’ll run upstairs, call the police. I was looking at the side entrance to the building I lived in. Um. Sweat was dripping down my forhead now. I had been walking for 30 minutes. What do I do. Call the police Jessica. Touch him. Shake him. No I better not. He’s breathing. Belly -up. Belly-down. It is 2:00AM in the morning, there are firecrackers going off in the distance. BOOM. Crack…. pssssssss.
Continue reading