Embracing my demons

Embracing my Demons

A friend once told me that the only thing that keeps me going is this belief that my art will set things right for me one day. I asked him if that was a good thing. He told me, “it all depends on which day you wake up on. Some days will suck others not so much. The second you doubt it; all is lost”. I knew from the get go that my decision to be an artist was going to be a bit of a gamble. I knew about the rocky relationships and the shaky bank accounts before hand.

It was 2 am and I had been trying to start my car up for over half an hour. I was draining my battery and my patience and so was she. “We should have brought my car” she said. “I’ll get it started, relax” I told her. I knew, from the moment that I glanced into her eyes that she was no longer having it; the car, the Artist, this relationship, no more. A few days later she broke up with me, gave me the boot, over the phone. “I need some one better than me to push me, to make me feel better about myself” she told me. “Maybe if you were more successful” she said. “Think very hard about your decision baby doll”, I told her, “Because if you leave, this is it; There aint no coming back. There aint no coming back”. She didn’t even hesitate with her decision, “Ok then. That’s that”. I grew a bit bitter over the following weeks and dwelled in and out of depression. She really did a number on me. The main reason for my depression was not because she was gone but because I was looked down on as a failure by her. I became the deadbeat artist; the thing I dread most

Truth is, the last thing that I need is some girl who has trouble loving who she is and relying on me to push her. I don’t need some one making me feel bad about my decisions; about who I am. I’ve got goals that need to be met baby, I’ve got an agenda to stick to doll, and more importantly I’ve got the balls to get it done momma. Ol’ Honey throat himself, George Burns, said it best, “I honestly think it is better to be a failure at something you love than to be a success at something you hate”.

My car started on the first turn of the ignition today. He roared as he woke from his sleep. Every one down the street turned and stared as he strutted all of his American made Chrysler steel down 109^th street. Don’t get him wrong He’s not an arrogant car, he doesn’t claim to be the best car on the road, nor does he try. He is well aware of his faults; leaky transmission, leaky oil pan, his weak power steering pump, his faulty automatic choke, all his lights don’t work, below par body work, and he’s got a faulty gas gauge that always seems to get him into “interesting” situations. No, he’s not arrogant at all; on the contrary my car is confident. When my 1973 dodge dart strolls down the street, wrapped in black with tinted windows, sporting a set of Cragar SS rims, aware of his faults, people compliment him on his effortless sense of style. Drips I can fix, dents I can repair, but a sweet ride is hard to come by.

I am not a perfect man; I have demons, I have problems but I confront them and I have learned to embrace them. They have made me the artist, the sculptor, the rooster, the man who I am today. Sometimes they knock me to my knees sometimes they slap my in the face, but I always punch back.