Autobiography
Over a decade of being the “paint-flinging maniac” has passed. The process continues to evolve. Constraints become opportunities through adaptation. Experimentation is encouraged at Studio Coleman. New ground is forged in the process; new lenses to see life through.
The staunchly hard angles of the dark, reflective office buildings in Irvine, California stood in contrast to whispy, sinuous palm trees. I had just graduated with landscape architecture at K-State and had accepted a position at a medium-sized, ambitious firm in the Summer of 2006. It didn’t take long before I was deemed rogue and cavalier. I was young and passionate from a blue collar background. Middle management wanted me to wear little tassels on my shoes though, and those shoes made my feet sweat. The whole place made me sweat with windowless, bland office space in the middle of beautiful sunny Orange County. I felt caged, and developed a strong caffeine addiction. My eye constantly twitched. I developed carpal tunnel syndrome in my forearm from clicking the mouse with computer work. I was elated the day they laid me off. I think they thought I would cry; but I was ready to meet myself.
I promptly planned an eight week trip to Europe. I stayed in hostels and would do some serious walking. I saw Europeans drinking little coffees, enjoying their lives on a random weekday. It was a stark dichotomy from the rushed and stressful lifestyles I’d witnessed in Irvine. I sat in the ergonomically perfect green chairs in the the Jardin des Tuileries extending from the Louvre and wrote in my sketchbook, “I will not work for others ever again” I wasn’t even necessarily going to become an artist, although it was certainly an option; so was mowing yards and painting houses.
I returned to my Costa Mesa apartment to spend another year riding my fixie bicycle in the quintessential SoCal sunshine, and reading in a coveted arm chair at Border's bookstore. The chairs had slightly sticky armrests and were arranged in a circle. I sat amongst the seemingly homeless, and some others like myself; the verdantly unemployed. I would purchase a coffee, and be there for a minimum of three hours before cycling down to Newport Beach for the evening sunset. I loved it. I felt like I was owning my own mind and my own time for the first time in my life. Admittedly, my mind mostly churned for what my next move would be. How could I avoid not moving back home to Missouri? I knew everyone would just think I was a “failure to launch” My days were spacious and expansive, and I had an artist’s “endless Summer.”
I began experimenting with art materials in my apartment. I put the blue tarp over the carpet and took over the living room. Making my thrift store coffee table my first easel. The flat/ horizontal placement of the canvas lent itself to flinging resins and paints across the canvas. I painted my first painting for my friend Camy who recently passed away. She trained me at a gym in Orange for two months straight during this time for the meager pay of one of my paintings. She inspired me to believe in myself, and helped me build a stronger body to help me do ev-ver-ey-thing that I’ve done. That first painting was forever sticky so she actually got another piece that ended up dripping down onto her white couch. I’m sorry Camy. Those initial experiments were an audacious mix of various paints, wet oozey sparkle, and cigarette pack indentations from the West Hollywood crowd my roommate would bring home. The painting was just laid over the coffee table so I couldn't be too angry. The living room was to be my studio as dictated by our agreement; I payed a little more rent and I’d secure the entire living room as a full time art studio. He thought it made the perfect after-party vibe. I don't think most of them even realized they were all the way down in Orange County.
After fourteen months of galavanting around Costa Mesa and Newport Beach on my bicycle on an "Obamabucks" budget, I made the pecuniary decision to move in with my mom in my hometown of Marshall, MO where I could help her recover from knee replacement, and invest every last "Obamabuck" into whatever my next move would be.
I loaded up my Ford Taurus to the brim and a made the drive back to Missouri where I’d live in my mom’s basement. I mowed yards and remodeled an old house with a friend I’d known since I was twelve. Shout out to Seth. He was quick to fire me though, and by that time I had already been making art in my mom's basement, and had a little showing in Columbia, MO at a gallery. I had serendipitously walked there while my mom was getting knee surgery, and showed the owner my art. An old friend in Columbia suggested I show them at his restaurant /bar in Columbia. Shout out to Ty. Another friend asked if I knew about the Plaza Art Fair in Kansas City. I did not. I had never been to a big art fair before. I found that you could apply through a website called zapplication.org There was no way I was getting into The Plaza with my art at the time, but there were many more shows that the bar of entry was much lower. I knew I would see the Country and at least break even.
I bought a 1984 Chevy Box Van for $1700 cash and upgraded my studio space to my dad’s detached garage across town. I’d paint all day everyday, and then go on country cruises with Seth, the same friend who’d just fired me. He was an a shining example of a soloprenuer, and of a life of freedom. I signed up for a series of shows in Colorado and all over the West Coast. I stayed with friends in Laguna Beach, and would approach galleries asking for representation. I began to sell my art; my process was truly unique and new. Things were moving in the right direction all around. I realized I had nothing to lose. I was destined to become a full time artist. I would overcome any obstacle in my way.
I found out my dad was losing his house. He had a Texas Hold ‘Em gambling addiction, and didn’t have the cash to lose. I had to clear my studio, and left the Missouri Winter to do eight shows in Florida. Id sleep in my van and get cheap hotels for the nights before shows so I could have a shower. I had a gym membership to take showers during the week, but they weren't always close enough to the show. I had Snickers (my Schnauzer) with me as my copilot. I only made a profit because I was so frugal. The entire process was born out of a scarcity for time and materials; but I felt light and abundant overall. I felt like I was just on some kind of ride, taking something that was always meant to be mine; the life of an artist had begun.
I searched Craigslist for a studio/ home for me and Snickers. I found a suitable studio space just South of Santa Fe, NM that I could also sort of live in. It was pure magic. The sunsets were awe inspiring, and I was making it work as a full-time artist. I woke up early. I painted all day long. I did forty shows that year from San Diego to Seattle to Chicago to Austin and everything in between. I often zeroed or broke even, but I was learning the ropes fast. I bought a decent van and pulled a trailer. I constructed a paint shack outside of the drying garage, and engineered safety protocols into my process. I like my lungs after all.
I would’ve stayed in Santa Fe longer, but after nine months the landlord had city inspectors coming in to give her permits for the remodel back into a single unit home. One time a group of city permit people walked through my actual resin drying room tip toeing around wet dripping paintings just breathing in the fumes. I could not believe they didn’t shut me down that day. They did not. It was as if they respected the little American dream that was happening there, but it was an absolute art factory.
I started looking a place to own back home in Missouri before my landlord started on the remodel in Santa Fe. Kansas City offered cheap real estate. I could get an acre that backed up to woodlands, and put a studio up in the back yard for $80k…total house and studio. The studio was a quick DIY job for sure. I built it with a guy I found on Craigslist. He’d later disappear with money he’d found while I was on some random trip to the lumber yard, but we had nearly finished the building. I would run into Eddie while he was serving community service at a nearby park, and then again when he was mowing my neighbors yard. I told him he deserved the money, and not worry about “paying me back” I was impervious to negativity or anything slowing me down. I owned my own home and studio. I worked with an absolute vigor, and was happy to do so.
A handful of other people have helped me build canvases and wire canvases over the last decade; mostly uneventful. I remember each one of them lovingly. Most lasted only about four months before bailing, but I do appreciate each one's contributions whether they left in a blaze of fire or with a matter-of-fact text.
Throughout my art career the Universe has tested me, and I always remind her that I will always pass the test. I will be an artist. I will make a living as an artist. I may lose the battle, but I will not lose the war. On one particular trip home from a Florida tour my entire trailer of art was stolen. Transmissions have gone out in the middle of a snowy cold Billings, Montana. Knee meniscuses have been blown hiking around San Fransciso, and couldn’t walk without crutches. The list goes on and on. Every time I realize I’m just being gently asked, “do you still want this?” - Universe “You’re damn right I do.” - Me.
I would ask for gallery representation anytime I was near any kind of art gallery row or art gallery district. I’d walk in with a small painting in hand and ask if they’d like to see my piece. Usually they’d rudely say no. Sometimes they would look. I’d tell them my van was full of art, and I’d leave them with a dozen primo pieces today. Usually they’d still rudely say no. Occasionally they’d casually accept me on my offer. I didn’t want to sell my own work my entire life. I desperately wanted others to sell my work. At one point I was able to load my van full and deliver to Santa Fe, Scottsdale, Laguna Beach, San Francisco, and Seattle in one mega loop stopping to see friends along the way. Some that still worked at the landscape architecture firm that I had been laid off from years ago. Gallery sales helped me pay off student loans, pay off my home, and invest. For two years, I exclusively sold in galleries. Many gallery relationships bloomed and withered; some never even sprung a blossom. They certainly each hold a special place in my heart, but I'm more of a art festival artist as I go into my forties; doing less and less as the years go on, but always making art.
Art festivals provide the perfect friction to keep me sharp. I enjoy the social aspect, and the challenge. The most rewarding feeling is driving away from a festival late on Sunday night, exhausted; but with an intense desire to make new work…often making deliveries all day Monday and driving home into the early Tuesday hours.
The pandemic provided a nice relief from shows, and I branched out into many new techniques. The paintings are more complex than ever. The obstacles just keep coming and I keep surmounting them. On December 14, 2021 I heard a popping noise in the middle of night. And looked out the window to see a little fire in the doorway of my self-constructed studio building. The hose was frozen, and I was frantically trying to dial the fire department at the same time. I watched it burn to the ground, and wondered if I was liable for building the thing in the first place. I murmured to my empathetic neighbors, “I’ll rebuild this quick.”
I cleared the debris myself with from my old friend Seth. The cities "dangerous building" inspector drove by and waved at me from the top of the hill saying “I’ll take you off the list” I found only one contractor to take on the job of reconstructing a professional metal building on a concrete foundation. Others wouldn’t take on the permitting process within the Kansas City limits. Over the next twelve months I would clearly understand why. The Kansas City Permitting Department within the City and Regional Planning Department is useless to someone wanting to build in city limits. They let you go down the rabbit hole and figure it out on your own though. Eventually, I had to cut my losses with the contractor and adapt my detached garage into the new studio.
Currently, my detached garage is outfitted to be a state-of-the-art. I truly love working in there. Every setback becomes an opportunity to improve. I am grateful for everyone that has come in and out of this journey. I’ve needed the support and even the friction that everyone in my life has brought. I love this life. I love this time. Let’s all expand, grow, and embrace our world in all it’s wonderful imperfections. Find the beauty in all circumstances. It’s always there; an underlying structure. An underlying truth to build on. Your truth.
* written April 19, 2025
The staunchly hard angles of the dark, reflective office buildings in Irvine, California stood in contrast to whispy, sinuous palm trees. I had just graduated with landscape architecture at K-State and had accepted a position at a medium-sized, ambitious firm in the Summer of 2006. It didn’t take long before I was deemed rogue and cavalier. I was young and passionate from a blue collar background. Middle management wanted me to wear little tassels on my shoes though, and those shoes made my feet sweat. The whole place made me sweat with windowless, bland office space in the middle of beautiful sunny Orange County. I felt caged, and developed a strong caffeine addiction. My eye constantly twitched. I developed carpal tunnel syndrome in my forearm from clicking the mouse with computer work. I was elated the day they laid me off. I think they thought I would cry; but I was ready to meet myself.
I promptly planned an eight week trip to Europe. I stayed in hostels and would do some serious walking. I saw Europeans drinking little coffees, enjoying their lives on a random weekday. It was a stark dichotomy from the rushed and stressful lifestyles I’d witnessed in Irvine. I sat in the ergonomically perfect green chairs in the the Jardin des Tuileries extending from the Louvre and wrote in my sketchbook, “I will not work for others ever again” I wasn’t even necessarily going to become an artist, although it was certainly an option; so was mowing yards and painting houses.
I returned to my Costa Mesa apartment to spend another year riding my fixie bicycle in the quintessential SoCal sunshine, and reading in a coveted arm chair at Border's bookstore. The chairs had slightly sticky armrests and were arranged in a circle. I sat amongst the seemingly homeless, and some others like myself; the verdantly unemployed. I would purchase a coffee, and be there for a minimum of three hours before cycling down to Newport Beach for the evening sunset. I loved it. I felt like I was owning my own mind and my own time for the first time in my life. Admittedly, my mind mostly churned for what my next move would be. How could I avoid not moving back home to Missouri? I knew everyone would just think I was a “failure to launch” My days were spacious and expansive, and I had an artist’s “endless Summer.”
I began experimenting with art materials in my apartment. I put the blue tarp over the carpet and took over the living room. Making my thrift store coffee table my first easel. The flat/ horizontal placement of the canvas lent itself to flinging resins and paints across the canvas. I painted my first painting for my friend Camy who recently passed away. She trained me at a gym in Orange for two months straight during this time for the meager pay of one of my paintings. She inspired me to believe in myself, and helped me build a stronger body to help me do ev-ver-ey-thing that I’ve done. That first painting was forever sticky so she actually got another piece that ended up dripping down onto her white couch. I’m sorry Camy. Those initial experiments were an audacious mix of various paints, wet oozey sparkle, and cigarette pack indentations from the West Hollywood crowd my roommate would bring home. The painting was just laid over the coffee table so I couldn't be too angry. The living room was to be my studio as dictated by our agreement; I payed a little more rent and I’d secure the entire living room as a full time art studio. He thought it made the perfect after-party vibe. I don't think most of them even realized they were all the way down in Orange County.
After fourteen months of galavanting around Costa Mesa and Newport Beach on my bicycle on an "Obamabucks" budget, I made the pecuniary decision to move in with my mom in my hometown of Marshall, MO where I could help her recover from knee replacement, and invest every last "Obamabuck" into whatever my next move would be.
I loaded up my Ford Taurus to the brim and a made the drive back to Missouri where I’d live in my mom’s basement. I mowed yards and remodeled an old house with a friend I’d known since I was twelve. Shout out to Seth. He was quick to fire me though, and by that time I had already been making art in my mom's basement, and had a little showing in Columbia, MO at a gallery. I had serendipitously walked there while my mom was getting knee surgery, and showed the owner my art. An old friend in Columbia suggested I show them at his restaurant /bar in Columbia. Shout out to Ty. Another friend asked if I knew about the Plaza Art Fair in Kansas City. I did not. I had never been to a big art fair before. I found that you could apply through a website called zapplication.org There was no way I was getting into The Plaza with my art at the time, but there were many more shows that the bar of entry was much lower. I knew I would see the Country and at least break even.
I bought a 1984 Chevy Box Van for $1700 cash and upgraded my studio space to my dad’s detached garage across town. I’d paint all day everyday, and then go on country cruises with Seth, the same friend who’d just fired me. He was an a shining example of a soloprenuer, and of a life of freedom. I signed up for a series of shows in Colorado and all over the West Coast. I stayed with friends in Laguna Beach, and would approach galleries asking for representation. I began to sell my art; my process was truly unique and new. Things were moving in the right direction all around. I realized I had nothing to lose. I was destined to become a full time artist. I would overcome any obstacle in my way.
I found out my dad was losing his house. He had a Texas Hold ‘Em gambling addiction, and didn’t have the cash to lose. I had to clear my studio, and left the Missouri Winter to do eight shows in Florida. Id sleep in my van and get cheap hotels for the nights before shows so I could have a shower. I had a gym membership to take showers during the week, but they weren't always close enough to the show. I had Snickers (my Schnauzer) with me as my copilot. I only made a profit because I was so frugal. The entire process was born out of a scarcity for time and materials; but I felt light and abundant overall. I felt like I was just on some kind of ride, taking something that was always meant to be mine; the life of an artist had begun.
I searched Craigslist for a studio/ home for me and Snickers. I found a suitable studio space just South of Santa Fe, NM that I could also sort of live in. It was pure magic. The sunsets were awe inspiring, and I was making it work as a full-time artist. I woke up early. I painted all day long. I did forty shows that year from San Diego to Seattle to Chicago to Austin and everything in between. I often zeroed or broke even, but I was learning the ropes fast. I bought a decent van and pulled a trailer. I constructed a paint shack outside of the drying garage, and engineered safety protocols into my process. I like my lungs after all.
I would’ve stayed in Santa Fe longer, but after nine months the landlord had city inspectors coming in to give her permits for the remodel back into a single unit home. One time a group of city permit people walked through my actual resin drying room tip toeing around wet dripping paintings just breathing in the fumes. I could not believe they didn’t shut me down that day. They did not. It was as if they respected the little American dream that was happening there, but it was an absolute art factory.
I started looking a place to own back home in Missouri before my landlord started on the remodel in Santa Fe. Kansas City offered cheap real estate. I could get an acre that backed up to woodlands, and put a studio up in the back yard for $80k…total house and studio. The studio was a quick DIY job for sure. I built it with a guy I found on Craigslist. He’d later disappear with money he’d found while I was on some random trip to the lumber yard, but we had nearly finished the building. I would run into Eddie while he was serving community service at a nearby park, and then again when he was mowing my neighbors yard. I told him he deserved the money, and not worry about “paying me back” I was impervious to negativity or anything slowing me down. I owned my own home and studio. I worked with an absolute vigor, and was happy to do so.
A handful of other people have helped me build canvases and wire canvases over the last decade; mostly uneventful. I remember each one of them lovingly. Most lasted only about four months before bailing, but I do appreciate each one's contributions whether they left in a blaze of fire or with a matter-of-fact text.
Throughout my art career the Universe has tested me, and I always remind her that I will always pass the test. I will be an artist. I will make a living as an artist. I may lose the battle, but I will not lose the war. On one particular trip home from a Florida tour my entire trailer of art was stolen. Transmissions have gone out in the middle of a snowy cold Billings, Montana. Knee meniscuses have been blown hiking around San Fransciso, and couldn’t walk without crutches. The list goes on and on. Every time I realize I’m just being gently asked, “do you still want this?” - Universe “You’re damn right I do.” - Me.
I would ask for gallery representation anytime I was near any kind of art gallery row or art gallery district. I’d walk in with a small painting in hand and ask if they’d like to see my piece. Usually they’d rudely say no. Sometimes they would look. I’d tell them my van was full of art, and I’d leave them with a dozen primo pieces today. Usually they’d still rudely say no. Occasionally they’d casually accept me on my offer. I didn’t want to sell my own work my entire life. I desperately wanted others to sell my work. At one point I was able to load my van full and deliver to Santa Fe, Scottsdale, Laguna Beach, San Francisco, and Seattle in one mega loop stopping to see friends along the way. Some that still worked at the landscape architecture firm that I had been laid off from years ago. Gallery sales helped me pay off student loans, pay off my home, and invest. For two years, I exclusively sold in galleries. Many gallery relationships bloomed and withered; some never even sprung a blossom. They certainly each hold a special place in my heart, but I'm more of a art festival artist as I go into my forties; doing less and less as the years go on, but always making art.
Art festivals provide the perfect friction to keep me sharp. I enjoy the social aspect, and the challenge. The most rewarding feeling is driving away from a festival late on Sunday night, exhausted; but with an intense desire to make new work…often making deliveries all day Monday and driving home into the early Tuesday hours.
The pandemic provided a nice relief from shows, and I branched out into many new techniques. The paintings are more complex than ever. The obstacles just keep coming and I keep surmounting them. On December 14, 2021 I heard a popping noise in the middle of night. And looked out the window to see a little fire in the doorway of my self-constructed studio building. The hose was frozen, and I was frantically trying to dial the fire department at the same time. I watched it burn to the ground, and wondered if I was liable for building the thing in the first place. I murmured to my empathetic neighbors, “I’ll rebuild this quick.”
I cleared the debris myself with from my old friend Seth. The cities "dangerous building" inspector drove by and waved at me from the top of the hill saying “I’ll take you off the list” I found only one contractor to take on the job of reconstructing a professional metal building on a concrete foundation. Others wouldn’t take on the permitting process within the Kansas City limits. Over the next twelve months I would clearly understand why. The Kansas City Permitting Department within the City and Regional Planning Department is useless to someone wanting to build in city limits. They let you go down the rabbit hole and figure it out on your own though. Eventually, I had to cut my losses with the contractor and adapt my detached garage into the new studio.
Currently, my detached garage is outfitted to be a state-of-the-art. I truly love working in there. Every setback becomes an opportunity to improve. I am grateful for everyone that has come in and out of this journey. I’ve needed the support and even the friction that everyone in my life has brought. I love this life. I love this time. Let’s all expand, grow, and embrace our world in all it’s wonderful imperfections. Find the beauty in all circumstances. It’s always there; an underlying structure. An underlying truth to build on. Your truth.
* written April 19, 2025
