Sam, are you okay?

I find it odd when the first reaction friends and family have when they see my work is “Are you okay?” As someone who appreciates grim, macabre art, I can confidently say nothing I make even scratches the surface of disturbing. But no, I’m not okay. Thank you for asking. I mean, I’m fine… mostly… but like who is actually okay okay? I guess that’s why sometimes demons come out sometimes. I’m haunted. Aren’t we all?

Maybe they’re not. My normal friends. My normal family.

See, that’s why comments like that use to get under my skin. It felt loaded with judgement. They’re normal, I’m not. And I was being scolded. Because I’m supposed to be normal. Happy. Okay. “Are you okay?” I quickly learned that was the type of art I wasn’t allowed to make. Good girls who are okay don’t make disgusting pictures full of mutilation, obviously. Why can’t you paint something happy? Flowers? So I tried to stick to flowers. Don’t get me wrong, I do like flowers. But it doesn’t scratch the same itch.

Eventually, I’d heard that flavor of “are you okay?” comment so often that I started to laugh it off and told my friends they need to broaden their horizons. “You’re too comfortable if you think what I’m making is shocking.” It’s true. But still, I object to that framing which upholds the notion that there’s “good” art (the kind that doesn’t challenge, offend, upset) and then there’s “bad” art. And for some reason, art from the latter category keeps pouring out, I can’t help it. Maybe I’m not okay. Not even a little. I don’t know, and frankly it seems irrelevant when I’m painting. So now instead of giving too many shits, I just remember David Choe’s wisdom, “if people are asking what’s wrong with you, GOOD!” Simple. True. I like it.

Enjoy a non-exhaustive sample of my “concerning” art:

I have no explanation for this one. It was my first oil painting and it was meant to be cute… then it turned into nightmare fuel

I mean… it’s kinda cute?

“Say hello to your anger.” “Hi, Anger!”

How I imagine my niece looked three second before being born

Originally, the spider only had two eyes, but my ex ex convinced me to add six more which was excessive and I have paid for the mistake of listening to the sweet bullshit that comes out of her mouth, aesthetically this time. Though I can’t argue, it is more accurate… as far as spiders go.

My assassin snail from the POV of a snail that’s about to get ate

Oh

My

GAA

AAWWD

Study from Morpho

Another study from Morpho. I will agree the facial structure is concerning

The feeling of periods, what can I say

For those of you who’ve made it this far, please indulge me for one second. I find it endlessly fascinating and frustrating how gendered expectations colors our tolerance of the grotesque. It’s clear that male violence, male domination, male impluses, male pain, male blood is seen as legitimate or on the other end as evil but unavoidable. Whereas women are expected to stifle their pain, violence, blood. Even though we bleed so much. Do you ever think about how much you will have bled in your life time? Can you picture it? In buckets? Carnal. Disgusting. Wonderful. Why then, are the people so connected to the physicality, the pain of bleeding, barred from engaging in these topics? Why is female rage niche? Silly. Do we have nothing of value to contribute when it comes to horror? The arrogance of men is itself a daily horror, even in my musings I can’t escape. The cursed sex indeed.

Nah, fuck all this. The paintings will ooze if I want them to. If they want to. Get over it.