Dreams and Art
To my distress and perhaps to my delight, I order things in accordance with my passions…. I put in my pictures everything I like. So much the worse for the things–they have to get along with one another. –Pablo Picasso
Henry Miller is my favorite writer. From the first time I read Tropic of Cancer I knew this dude was on to something. I read just about everything he's ever written. He was a true artist. He lived in squaller, with barely any food, would never compromise his thoughts. The fucker spoke to me.
What I think really resonated with me was his fascination with everyday people. He favorite artists were not great Russian writers or Painters or even poets. They were everyday people. Plumbers, bartenders, prostitutes, cooks, dishwashers...People who got up everyday and did their job well. That was an artist. They made people smile. They brought small little joys to people around them.
I had a typical American childhood, consisting of sports, sports, and sports....and later on it was drugs, sports, drugs and sports. And I can remember from my earliest moments hating putting on a uniform. When it was just me and my friends I could hit, shoot, dribble, catch. There was freedom in that. It was limitless joy. But the second I would put on a uniform, it all changed. I locked up. I felt weak. And the coaches around me made me feel like shit. I always felt I had it in me to do better.
I remember dreaming as a kid that I would be someone famous one day, or just someone that people would know. Dreams......
Henry Miller would think I am artist. He would think the people I run with are artists. He would think the Yogis I practice with are artists.
I have taken all the misery, pain, and sadness and thrown it into the movement of my body. When I run, I run to paint a picture. To float over the ground like a bird. To dance high into the clouds. To run up mountains so beautiful you swear the gods are living there. I run to inspire, to get someone to say "holy fucking shit", to make people smile. This is art. This is my art. And I might stil be a nobody but I know one thing, Henry would be proud.
So never stop dreaming. Be a fucking artist. Do your thing and be fucking proud of it. It took me 35 years to figure things out. And now I won't compromise shit. I am going to do my fucking thing till the day I die. Dreams and Art.