Back in 1992 I was living in Little Falls, NJ, attending art school.   During the summer, I would often set my easel up outside my place and paint.  One of my neighbors was a biker named Frank.  He liked watching me paint and would come over to talk whenever he saw me outside.  The first week of August we crossed paths and he invited me to a party he was going to have that weekend.  I was happy to be invited, but I wouldn’t know anyone, they’re all bikers, so I declined.  Besides I didn’t have any tattoos.  The reason was since my mother had tattoos, the rebel in me resisted the urge.  Plus these were real bikers, not 40-year-old accountants who had a mid-life crisis, bought a pair of leather chaps, a Harley and pretended they were tough guys.  So I didn’t think I’d fit in.  Oh, and I almost forgot, I already had plans to meet up with a girl for a date that same day, so I thanked him but let him know I wouldn't be able to attend. 

"Well if you change your mind, come on by you are always welcome." was Frank's response.

The weekend came and the girl I had a date with was missing in action, I couldn’t get in touch with her, so rather than pout I took my easel outside and began to do a painting.

While I was painting two beautiful girls, a blonde and a brunette, were walking down the sidewalk.  They seemed to be lost.  I had a hunch they were probably looking for Frank’s party. 

“Are you looking for the party?”  I yelled out.

“Yes!”  They responded.

So I pointed them toward Frank's place.  As they walked off I returned to painting. 

"Screw this!"  I thought.

I packed up my easel, threw everything into my apartment and headed to Frank’s party.  His place was loud with wall to wall bikers and their mols.  All wearing black, mostly leather, complete with tattoos, piercings and a beer.  I noticed the lost blonde at the food table.  She was talking with a bald-headed biker who had what looked to be a tattoo of a bullet going in one side of his head and when he turned around I noticed he had another tattoo of his brains blasting-out of the other side of his head.  So, it was clear that the blonde was off limits.

So I did the only thing I knew to do in situations where I didn’t know many people and felt uncomfortable; get busy.  I asked the host if he needed any help.  He did, so I was able to begin to feel a part of even if it was just as Frank's clean cut maitre d'. 

I picked up empty bottles and empty plates which gave me the opportunity and excuse to meet the bikers and their dames.  It also made it obvious that I must be a friend of Frank's and therefore OK.  I was beginning to have a good time.  Well, except when I would catch a glimpse of myself in the big mirror Frank had hanging in the living room.

I made a bad judgment call a few days before the party and got one of those, long on top - one length Michael Hutchence, (the lead singer of INXS), haircuts.  But mine came out more like, Moe from the Three Stooges.  Most of the time, I was able to avoid looking at myself in the mirror and remain in denial, until one of Frank’s friends, “Joker,” who met me sometime before the haircut yelled out from across the room, “What the hell happened to you?  Why did you cut your hair like that, man?  It used to look good!”  Thanks, Joker.

Anyway, I was by the bar to see if the old guy mixing drinks needed anything when the that "lost" brunette made her way over and sparked up a conversation with me about art.  Later on I came to find out that Frank’s girlfriend was the brunette’s beautician and told her that I was a “famous” artist and would be at the party.  I wasn’t famous but I wasn't about to call Frank's girl a liar.  Besides I've been accused of much worse. 

It was when the brunette asked me if I frequented “the Met” that was about to determine the entire course of my life from that moment on.  I knew she meant the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. 

Of course I’ve been to the Met.

“Yes.”  I replied confidently.

She immediately began rambling on about how her favorite gallery at the Met was the, “Egyptian,” something or other.  Right then and there I knew I was out of my element.  She continued by rattling off historical dates, periods, dynasties, and an entire history on Egyptian art.  I had no idea what the hell she was talking about - but I looked interested. 

When she was all done she looked right at me and asked, “So, what’s your favorite gallery at the Met?” 

Ought oh.

I started thinking, she is smart and great looking, so, I better pretend I know what she is talking about and say I like some important gallery at the Met too.  Should I tell her I like the modern art gallery?  What if it’s not called that?  Maybe I should just pretend to love whatever she said; I’ll just repeat the stuff she said back to her.  But I really wasn’t paying close enough attention and could never repeat any of those hard to pronounce words she was saying. 

Then I blurted it out, “My favorite room at the Met is the bookstore!” 

She was silent and looked at me like she didn’t hear me correctly.

I knew it didn't sound impressive but, and this was surprising even to me, I didn’t care.  It felt good; because it was true.  I loved the bookstore!  I loved looking at all the books, souvenirs, interesting toys and gadgets.  It felt so great to just tell the truth that I continued to describe everything I enjoyed at the Met bookstore.  During my enthusiastic descriptions, the blonde had made her way over to join us and was listening too.

Once I finished, the blonde asked me, “Are you talking about the bookstore at the Met?” 

Still feeling enthusastic, and with a dumb smile on my face I said, “Yeah!”

Then she smiled and said, “My uncle manages that bookstore.”

Can you believe it?  We started talking about what a coincidence that was, then more about the bookstore and her uncle.  She told me how she lived in New York City and her friend, the brunette, dragged her to the party because her friend didn’t want to go to it alone.  But the most significant thing she told me was, the guy with the bullet tattoo on his head was just someone who struck up a conversation with her at the food table, NOT her boyfriend.

That was nineteen years ago and the blonde and I have been together everyday since.  Nineteen years, even we’re amazed it’s been nineteen years.  I’ve been in relationships that were nineteen days that felt like nineteen years.  I still can’t believe how lucky I am, and extremely grateful, that I just told the truth.  If I lied to impress the brunette I would have been in the wrong relationship, and probably alone today.

It amazes me how a little lie to get what I thought would be good for me would have ruined my chance of getting what turned out to be perfect for me.

Everyday I wake up and see my beautiful little wife, Lori, I am reminded that honesty is the best and quickest way to get what is truly meant for me and motivates me to just be me - honestly.

When I wake up I always look forward to the inspiring new reading I'll discover in my morning meditation books.  This past week I have been exceptionally enthusiastic about my morning routine because two of my friends started implementing this rewarding daily practice as well.

It’s fun to have friends "on the same page" because we get to compare notes and usually find we are inspired by the same topics.  Speaking of which, I think this reading from the book, “God Grant Me…,” really hits the nail on the head regarding anger and is worth sharing.

“Anger was spreading through me like a malignant tumor.” –Isabel Allende

We can’t afford the dubious luxury of anger.  The reasons are many.  Anger feeds and inflates our egos.  Anger disconnects us from our conscience, our values, and the conscious contact we have worked hard to nurture.  Anger gives us a sense of entitlement: we believe we can do and say whatever we want.  Anger allows us to feel self-righteous and above others, increasing our isolation.  Anger creates a separation from the “We” of our society and back to the “Me” of arrogance.

Anger is often a mask for hurt or fears.  If we stay angry, we never learn how to effectively face and deal with these feelings.  We stay reactive instead of embracing the serenity that awaits us.  We need to stop the cancer of anger from growing in our hearts and souls.

Prayer for the day:
“Higher Power, I often use anger to cover up my hurts and fears.  I am weak; you are strong.  Give me the willingness to turn to Your strength instead of my anger.”

In the book, "Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions," it points out that "the chief activator of our defects has been self-centered fear - primarily the fear that we would lose something we already possessed or would fail to get something we demanded."  And in the "Course in Miracles" it states "All anger is nothing more than an attempt to make someone feel guilty."

Next time you feel yourself getting irritated and angry, before it gets the best of you, ask yourself, "What am I afraid of?"  Whenever I do this I am amazed at how quickly I can identify what it is that I'm afraid of and how insignificant and selfish my little fear usually is.  As soon as the light of reason shines upon the origin of my anger it seems to dissipate on the spot as if I'm letting the air out of a balloon.  I can then reassure myself, like a loving parent, that my fear is irrational and all is well.  Once again I'm grateful I avoided disaster, had I acted out.

ART says, "Hey check this out!"

To which the audience responds, "Wow, that's fascinating.  I never thought about it like that before."

In other words, ART broadens the way we've formerly looked at something and elevates us to a brand new perspective.  ART transforms routine into adventure and makes the ordinary - extraordinary.  Mainly, I think ART helps us get back in touch with the world of wonder we thought was childish and we left behind in the pursuit of what we thought would make us happy. 

"It took me my whole life to draw like a child" -Pablo Picasso

Nothing says it better than this example below.  By adding a couple of characters to her electric bill my friend artist LEEBS refreshingly transforms it from the mundane (and destine for the trash) into something absurd and humorous that we can all appreciate: ART.

ART is never complicated.  ART is simple.  It indicates; it doesn't overly state or drive home a point.  It merely gives our psyche a gentle nudge and we drift off into a brand new way of looking at things.  In an instant our spirit is ignited, our thoughts begin to steeplechase and our emotions awaken.  We feel alive.

"Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way to affect the senses or emotions." - Wikipedia

So have fun and make ART.  Share your wonderful and weird way of seeing the world with the rest of us.  We can't wait!

"If you're feeling sh*tty make something pretty."
- Diana Rice (Darrell's cousin)

For more fun visit my friend LEEBS by clicking on this sentence.

In his cartoon my friend cartoonist Keith Knight uses the threat of homework to his advantage.  Of course it works.  The one thing that I have done consistently every day of school from Grades 1 right on through to, well, today, is to whine, "Why do we always have to have homework to do?"  So what's the answer?  I think I finally got it figured out.  It was to learn the fact that it's NOT the homework that's unbearable, it's putting it off, or worse not doing it at all, that's unbearable.

I had it all backwards, I blamed homework from keeping me from having fun.  But having homework wasn't the reason why I wasn't having fun.  I wasn't having fun because I would put it off, or not do it at all.  I believed that if I didn't have homework I wouldn't have to feel bad about not doing it or having to make up excuses (lies) about why it wasn't done.  Even worse to justify not doing it I'd mock those who did their homework as brown-nosers. 

In reality, I'm never struggling with the fact that I have homework to do, I'm struggling with not doing it.  I hate anticipating work that needs to be done, but ironically, once I get started the struggling ends.  Every time I get started on an assignment, rather than put it off, I begin to feel good about myself and this propels me forward to enjoy a sense of accomplishment when I'm through.

Still surprised at how relieved I feel every time I begin something that I've been dreading to do I think to myself in amazement, "Wow, This isn't so bad.  I can't believe I was putting this off."

It never takes as long as I thought and is usually much easier to do than I had imagined.  There is also the bonus of being prepared and feeling good about turning in a completed assignment when it's due. 

Finally I get the point of homework: nothing is as difficult to do as putting something off.  Feel free to quote me on that one.

Every morning I read a page from "Around The Year With Emmet Fox" that corresponds to the day.  Yesterday's reading is one of my favorites and was worth re-reading so I thought I'd share it.  Have fun.

Loosen up.  To be tense is the surest way to fail in any undertaking great or small.
    To desire success is a splendid thing but to pursue success too tensely is to make certain of missing it.  The carefree approach in any endeavor is a shortcut to success.  In music, in sport, in study, in business life, many people fail, or advance very slowly, because they make hard work of it.
    Treat your work as fun.  Regard the difficulties as part of the game, laugh off the annoyances.  This of course, is the real difference between work and play.
    Take it easy.  Loosen up!

"Ever give birth to a great idea only to drown it in doubt?" -Hafjak Diviz

How many endeavors, aspirations or plans have you talked yourself out of?
It seems like every morning I'm inspired with some new creative idea to pursue but somewhere between finishing my coffee and shaving I give up without ever getting started.  I can talk myself out of any worthwhile creative urge ranging from rearranging the furniture, painting the living room a new color, drawing a new cartoon, and even writing this article.

It's as if, as soon as I begin to feel excited about something new I would like to do the reasons why I shouldn't, start popping out of no where.  They're like mosquitoes; relentless.  Only far deadlier to my creative well-being than mosquitoes these doubts and excuses take a piece of enthusiasm with each bite.  If I don't do something immediately they begin to swarm and before you know it I'm overcome and give up.  What's fascinating is that most of these reasons "why not" seem quite reasonable, like they are out to protect me from harm some how. 

Here are a just a few examples of what I'm talking about, "That's a silly idea."  "It'll cost too much."  "You don't have time to do something like that."  "No one will take you seriously, you're too young."  "No one will take you seriously, you're too old."  "That's arrogant."  "What are you trying to prove?"  "Don't you have better things to do with your time?"  "What about the lawn, the garden, doesn't the car need an oil change?"  "You'll look ridiculous."  "It'll take too long."  "You can't do something like that by yourself."  "No one will want to help you."  "No one has time to help you."  "Why bother?"  "No one cares."  "Don't you have enough going on?"  "When are you going to have the time?"  "Everything is fine the way it is, why change it?"  I can go on ad nauseum. 

Are these thoughts really looking out for our best interest?  I think it's just my fear of the unknown getting the best of me.  I am convinced that they are just old beliefs born out of fear trying to protect me from embarrassment.  That's it.  "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't" is not always the best advice.  Matter of fact "better safe than sorry" tends to leave me more sorry than safe when I use it to hold me back from taking a step out of my comfort zone and into the realm of the creative discovery.  Whenever I put off a creative nudge by justifying it with any one of the good reasons I've listed above I feel half alive.  Like I am just here plodding along in a fog colored suit merely existing.  And since avoidance is a full time job, I must keep justifying why it was a good idea to not pursue that inspired idea, whatever it may have been.

So how do I avoid talking myself out of attempting some new creative pursuit?  I try to remember to treat these doubts and excuses (that come to me disguised as mature and reasonable thoughts) like unruly children clamoring for my attention.  Instead of arguing with them I simply acknowledge each one as it arises and cast if off with this statement; "Thank you for bringing that to my attention, don't worry God will help us with that."  And off it goes, skipping into the ethers.  Meanwhile my enthusiasm remains intact and with it the momentum I need to continue on with that small but crucial first step.  Before I know it I am further along than I expected and soon reminded that I am capable of far more than I think! 

Believe your beliefs and doubt your doubts. --F.F. Bosworth

I take my Moleskine® 3 x 5 inch plain paper 192 sheet sketch pad with me wherever I go cause I never know when a useful idea or solution to a problem will pop up. 

I can resist anything except temptation. -Oscar Wilde

While at lunch the other day my friends Edward Biaggiotti and his wife Jen accused me of being afraid to honor my artistic freedom with an earring.  If only that were the truth.