Artist Statement
Artist statement.
- I was born in Tampa Florida on February 7th 1991.
- Growing up, I was the strong silent type, hiding behind a mask of courage in a world that felt chaotic and intimidating. My father had left shortly after I was born, and my mother was doing her best to raise me while carrying the weight of her own past trauma. She had a rocky relationship with a man named Bill, my brother’s father, who also bore the damage of childhood terror. As I grew older, I became deeply aware and observant of the cycles of human suffering around me. I saw the trials of the lost and the broken-hearted in the trailer park where I spent most of my childhood. Through it all, I watched my mother—a woman with a heart of gold and a bruised spirit—do her best to raise me in the turmoil of life.
In my teenage years, one of my good friends was a man named Lane. He lived in the neighborhood and suffered from a past of terror and trauma, along with an ongoing addiction to meth. My teenage mind understood who this person was and how the world saw him, but I saw something else. I saw a boy—an innocent boy who never got a chance to live his life, beaten and tortured before he had a chance to become the person he deserved to be. Most of all, I saw the love in his heart and the kind, gentle soul he carried within him. Lane showed me that we are all deserving of love and compassion, no matter our supposed flaws or mistakes. - The influence of drugs was prevalent in the city. Pills flooded the streets like candy, and the oxycodone pandemic was at its peak. Cheap, lab-grade heroin was taking hold of everyone around me—friends and family alike. Most of them were completely unaware of the threat and the detrimental effects it would have, and many of their lives were taken completely. By sixth grade, I had fallen into a deep pit of depression, carrying a heavy pain in my heart every day. They say depression is a disease from within, and in a sense that's true, but for me, it was a direct effect of the world I lived in. I was a child surrounded by death, pain, and despair. I knew I couldn't blame myself for the world's issues. Instead, I pulled my bootstraps up. I had to make something of myself for me, my mother, and my little brother.
- Football was my big plan. Winning athlete of the year in my eighth-grade school of over 4,000 students convinced me I was destined to be a superstar, to rise to fame and fortune and save my family from poverty. Oh, how naive I was. It didn't take long at high school football practice to be absolutely destroyed by kids the size of NFL linebackers. I was athletic, but also pretty average size and not incredibly conditioned. When the coach didn't hand me a jersey on uniform day, I knew that dream was gone. It was a crushing blow that further instilled the fact that the outside world would happily let my family lay down in a ditch and die. Looking back, I don't hold any resentment—that's just how life can be. But at the time, that's exactly how it felt.
- With my dream gone, I was left to the wind—lost but fighting every step of the way. In that world, options seemed limited. My mind told me, "I don't have money for college, and people like us aren't good enough for it anyway." I became complacent. Then one day, a friend offered me a pill. "I guess this is what we do," I thought, and so I did it. That pill began a 10-year fight for my life. Instantly, the burden and the pain lifted away. I felt happy, confident, and content, but I didn't know I was being lured into a trance that leads to an unjust death for many people. Even after all I had seen, I still didn't fully grasp the reality of the situation. In that place, you either escape or you die, but the problem is, those options aren't apparent when you're there.
- Let me be clear, this is not a pity party. I've thrown plenty of those, but this story is about what led me to art. My childhood also had many good memories and times. I enjoyed playing sports, riding my bike, and waking up early to walk to the lake for sunrise fishing. There was so much life in me, and I gained a deep appreciation for it. Christmas was, and still is, my favorite time of the year. It was during these years that I met my best friend in the world, Mike. He was the super extroverted fun guy with an appetite for life like no other. Mike’s life was an adventure, and no one was going to tell him how to live it. His mother was a heroin addict and his father was absent, but my mother’s kind heart took Mike in as one of her own. Our lives became intertwined, and no matter the hardships, we had each other and we had so much fun. We spent years just having fun; nothing could touch us. We were the group of people in every restaurant laughing louder than anyone else in the room. The times we shared and the experiences we created are precious treasures forever in the timeline of the universe.
- But the ghost of the past remains, ever ready to haunt us. The grips of addiction were always prevalent in our lives; it’s like a parasite that, once it takes control, will stop at nothing to gain full control and eventually kill you. Looking back, it's hard not to place blame on pharmaceutical companies, on my community, on my mother, or on myself. But that blame is meaningless after the outcome arrives. All you can do is analyze, reflect, and learn from past mistakes. It's a tragedy that Mike, and so many others, lost their lives before gaining the hindsight to improve them. Michael Ray Sands passed away from a heroin overdose at 20 years old, just two months after leaving to go live with his mother. He was one of the most amazing and unique individuals I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, and I'm truly honored that I was able to call him my friend. He will forever have a place in my heart.
- In the wake of my friend's death, I was left to face my own detrimental pill addiction. I felt like I might die, too. But even in the deepest darkness, a voice told me I had to fight—for my mother, for my brother. I wanted my life to mean something. I was determined to stare adversity in the face and overcome it. I'd always been drawn to art, and rap artists like 50 Cent, Haystak, Tupac, and Jelly Roll spoke to me when no one else would. Their music was a raw form of expression that gave a voice to their pain. I didn't want to be a rapper, but their honesty made me wonder: how could I use my own pain and knowledge to make a difference? How could I make an impact on a world that had plagued my life? I was determined to find a way, but I just didn't know how yet.
- Then, one day in my search for purpose, a documentary called Banksy Does New York came on the screen. I was immediately captivated by how this anonymous artist used public spaces to create a sense of wonder and impact. The power in his acts of expression—the energy—felt like pure magic to me. He walked into one of the largest cities on Earth and, without permission, stole the show with his art. In that moment, I realized this was what I had been searching for. This was how I could make a difference, how I could help bring people together and do my part in molding the future into something beautiful.
- So, I started painting daily and did so for several years. With every brushstroke, I expressed every ounce of pain, along with moments of joy and peace. It was through this art that I gained the strength to overcome my addiction. I found the medicine my spirit needed. It wasn't just for me; it was a way to connect with and inspire others. Art taught me things about life I never would have known—how to be more peaceful, loving, and compassionate. It allowed my spirit to rise above the illusions of the world. Now, my goal is to share that power. I believe the act of creation is an act of the spirit, and art has the power to give inspiration to life itself. Through my work, I want to inspire others to find their own true selves and guide our future toward more beauty, peace, and harmony.