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As you guys may have observed, Aggieville has been pretty much dead for the past week and a half. In short, it’s really easy to find a parking space 24/7. Andrea’s and my business, as with many of the businesses in Aggieville, relies heavily upon foot traffic for walk-in ceramics. We have seen literally zero walk-ins over the past five days (when we are open). Approximately half of our revenue stream is dependent upon walk-in traffic. The other half is reliant upon scheduled events and private events. For March, we had most of the calendar filled with private events. Several of which were Fraternities and Sororities who were planning on celebrating Mom’s weekends. One of these events would have had approximately 150 participants. All four of those events, as well as the other private events we had scheduled have been cancelled and deposit refunds have been made.   

We have also had to cancel our public events. We generally run public events on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Our average public event attendance has been approximately 20 people per event since we purchased Straight Upp in November.    Essentially, if we were to try and conduct business as usual, our revenue would be $0.  

Like many other businesses, we have had to pivot. I know that word is overused, but it’s very literal. We are in the process of evolving from a very public, very social, very interactive people-to-people type of business, to a business that caters to everyone completely online. We have shifted our public paint and sips to take home kits that allow the customer to access a video tutorial for the painting they choose. We will also be setting up an online store for ceramics kits that people can order. We have also begun offering free delivery of these items after 5pm. (Because both of us work full time)… which leads me to the following…  

We both work full time. Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, we are both thankful that we have jobs. We are also incredibly thankful that our jobs allow us to work from home. That being said, we leave home and work after hours in order to create the new services I’ve mentioned. Andrea goes down to Uncorked and puts together our take home kits. I go down to Uncorked and create new videos for paintings… (these are just two of the things we both do to keep this business running.)    This has come at a time for us when we are literally five months into the purchase of a new business. It’s been grueling.   

I don’t tell all of you this in order to solicit your feelings of sorrow or sadness or whatever. I just wanted to share our current reality. This reality also encompasses the other local businesses down in Aggieville… many of which cannot do what we do. I’m thankful that I am a graphic designer and web developer. If we had to pay someone to do the things we’re doing right now, we would be out of business, but thankfully, both Andrea and I have the skillsets to do what needs to be done to evolve our business.

This isn’t the case for many of the businesses in Aggieville. Bars can’t deliver. Food places have to rely on curbside pick up. A place like The Public House, which is reliant on social gathering, is now reliant on online orders and call in orders for curbside pick up or delivery.    Kite’s has closed its doors for the foreseeable future. Acme local, Acme Gift, The Dusty Bookshelf, Rally House, and so many others… they’re shifting their paradigm.

Small businesses are facing a harsh reality right now. I anticipate there will be many that have to close their doors. If Andrea and I can weather the storm – due to the fact that we both have full time jobs and we can convert the majority of what we do to online – we will be able to pay the lease, pay the loan, and pay the utilities, pay our employees.   Again, not trying to elicit sorrow or sadness. We chose this.   

What I ask of you, and what all of the small businesses ask of you here in MHK… please support us as you’re able. Purchase online if available. Purchase gift certificates (and I see this as a blind purchase… meaning that the business you purchase it from may not be in business by the time this is over, but please purchase anyway because it might mean a meal on their own table). Let others know via word-of-mouth that these businesses are trying to stay open and work within the community.  

Andrea and I are lucky. We have our full time positions. We know that if we can pay our lease, pay our utilities, and pay our loan, and pay our employees, we will survive this. Many of our local businesses are not as fortunate as we are. Please support them as you can.   

And in the words of Forrest Gump… “That’s all I have to say about that.”

I’m tired, and I’m not even sure where I’m going to go with this post. Butterscotch woke me up at 2:09 am this morning and needed to go out. I finally got back to sleep around 4:40 am. Thoughts going through my head. What can we do to survive our business during this stupid pandemic. Around 5am I was dreaming about doing one-on-one consults for paintings. Charging for 10, 15, 20, 30 minutes of my time to help people get through their paintings that we’re offering on YouTube. I woke up. Because who needs sleep these days, right? The next idea was private one-on-one virtual art lessons – 30 or 60 minutes. Again, looking for another revenue stream. And to be honest, some things are wearing both Andrea and I a bit thin. It’s been stressful.

But the lack of sleep and the stress of trying to figure out how our business could survive was nothing compared to the kick in the teeth I was about to get later that morning. There was a message on the Uncorked Inspiration Facebook page. A friend of a friend was posting to us to let us know that our friend, Ariel, had been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. A go-fund-me account had been set up for her because despite her active duty service in our military, the VA could not provide the treatment she needs to survive. What she needs is treatment that’s available in Arizona. Our friend has been given 6 months to live. Stage four colon cancer has a 14% survival rate. Again, I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the teeth.

For anyone who doesn’t know her, Ariel is someone who fits the definition of fierce. Andrea and I love her. She embodies this petite fireball of a human being who loves doing art with us. Recently. moving in with her boyfriend Ivan… the world is ahead of her in all it’s optimism. Then COVID-19… then stage-four colon cancer. Pardon me for being indiscrete, but fuck cancer. I’m tired. And she’s going to be even more tired. And once again, it’s simply life tossing on the bullshit. I’m sick of it and I honestly don’t have a solution. I can complain. I can whine. I can cry… did a bit of that this afternoon after I texted Ariel and she responded. She’s one of the most positive people I know, and she didn’t fail to be positive about this. Simply thanked me and <3’d me. Did I mention how fierce I believe she is? Multiply that by ten. I know she’ll fight this.

She comes to our paint and sips. Sometimes in a t-shirt and yoga pants, sometimes in a blouse and ripped 80’s style jeans. Always showing off her gorgeous tattoos. Defining fierce. A whirlwind of kickass. She comes into the room and you simply get that feeling that she’s there to kick butt and take names. You give her advice and her response is always, “Yeah, yeah… got it… cool, thanks!” Stupid cancer doesn’t deserve her.

It’s been a long day. I need you guys to support her. She’s a good human. The kind we need to be around. Please go donate to her go-fund-me. A little… a lot… whatever. Thanks for listening.

#fuckcancer

When did I ever think I’d be writing a post like this? Never, I guess. This virus is pretty badass, and it’s changing our lives. For some reason R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know it” keeps going through my head. Along with The Police’s “Don’t Stand so Close to Me”, and even Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper”. All of these songs have made my post-apocalyptic playlist. I even know who the people are who I’ll trust in a zombie apocalypse (anyone who hoarded TP… y’all just pass me on by).

Did I think I’d ever have to deal with a pandemic shutting down the world while I tried to run my small business? Yeah – no. And yet, here we are. So I need to put down some thoughts.

We’re trying to pivot. Trying to offer options that allow people to create art at home, and still trying to pay our lease and utilities. It hasn’t been easy, but I think we’ll make it. I hope… I hope, I hope, I hope… We’ll come up with more ideas and get things figured out, but I’m concerned for other businesses. We love Aggieville. We love the other businesses who are our neighbors. We even love and appreciate the bars. This mini-community within a community seems to be relatively tight-knit. We’ve seen the positive of this community. We hope to be a thriving part of it in the long run. Right now, though, we’re a bit nervous for them.

I walked down to Kite’s to get lunch yesterday, and they were closed. A food and drink business has small margins to begin with and when people can’t congregate to socialize it’s hard to sustain. I was sad to see this. Kite’s is under new ownership and I had high hopes for their success. I hope they can re-open.

Other bar and grills have tried to adapt. So Long Saloon is serving with take out options, as is Tanner’s and other bar and grills. But can they sustain it? Listen, I get it… a lot of you don’t feel safe going out. Let’s break things down, though. The CDC has created guidelines for social distancing. We all know we need to stay six-feet apart. We know we need to wash our hands. Stay home if you don’t feel well. The list goes on. But we have guidelines. Folks, the businesses in Aggieville are taking this seriously. I know we are. We’ve spaced our tables apart by six-feet. We’ve cancelled public events for the interim. We don’t allow groups over ten. We friggin’ sanitize like crazy and YES… we wash our hands. A lot. When I say a lot, think Lady Macbeth.

I guess what I’m trying to get to is that we’re four months into our purchase of Straight Upp, feeling as if we were finally just about getting away from the idea that we were barely keeping our nose above water… along with all these other amazing businesses in MHK and Aggieville. Now, because of a stupid pandemic, we’re nervous as hell and we feel like things are spiraling out of control. In short, we’re feeling as if we’re fucked and we just don’t want to feel as if we’re fucked.

So please, buy gift certificates to your favorite businesses. Support them by ordering carry out. Support organizations like https://mhktogether.org/. Both of these sites feature MHK small businesses and how you can help benefit them as well as members of the community who have been hardest hit by this pandemic.

Y’all… we’re in this together. Let’s fight this virus. Let’s support each other. Follow the CDC guidelines, and refuse to be fearful.

We love our town. We love Aggieville. We’ll fight this until the end.

#fuckCOVID19

The fantasy football carryover rule was instituted in the early years of fantasy football. This rule states that for the championship game in their league, both fantasy football coaches may add the any additional points accrued in the previous week’s semi-final win.

Example: Coach 1 wins the semi-final matchup 101 to 75 and Coach 2 wins the semi-final matchup 126 to 100. In both cases, each coach may “carryover” an additional 25 points into the championship game.

This rule was established so that Neal Wollenberg could win the 2019 Labrats Fantasy Football Trophy.

We’re sitting at Sangster International Airport in Montego Bay, Jamaica after wrapping up a stay in Ochos Rios. Since we have a few minutes before boarding will begin, I thought it might be a good time to write down some thoughts. They won’t be really art related, but maybe just more life related.

The first and foremost thing that sits with me and will remain a constant friend who will always put a smile on my face is the friendliness of the people of Jamaica. I knew this would be true because of all I’d read about this country. Nearly every writing expressed how friendly the Jamaican people are, and every writing is true. I rarely ran into a Jamaican who would not return a smile, or a Wahgwaan, or Yeah Mon! And for the entire week, I wondered how this could be within a country that has an unemployment rate, that even as recently as 2017, was in the double digits. In 2019, thankfully for the people of Jamaica, the unemployment rate sits at about 8.4%, an all time low for the country. 

Even with a decreasing unemployment rate, the average monthly salary for anyone working in Jamaica is $16,667 JMD (just $138.72 in USD). Hotel staff, in particular, work 12 to 14 hours per day, 6 days per week. So, again, I wondered, why is there this appearance of seemingly genuine happiness and helpfulness. Yes, the Jamaican people understand that tourism is a major part of the life blood of the country, but that could only go so far, right? 

On our last day, during our shuttle ride to Sangster, I finally found the answer. Our driver, Winston, one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met in my life by the way, gave us a brief “nutshell” version of Jamaican history. Within that nutshell, he told us about the Taíno, also known as that Arawak (Jamaica’s indigineous people – and due to the Spanish invasion a couple of years after Columbus “discovered” Jamaica, were wiped out – https://jis.gov.jm/information/jamaican-history/). 

One of the things that bothers me about this is that it’s the same story we learn in grade school that gets whitewashed by the history books. We learn that Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492 and discovered America. What we aren’t told is that he enslaved indiginous populations, was responsible for both himself and his men murdering and raping (women and children) and in some cases was the catalyst that caused the genocide of various indiginous populations.

But the thing that caught my attention and gave me the answer to why the people of Jamaica seem to be so happy is this: In Jamaica, children are taught from a young age that the idea of contentment is more important than wealth. He said, “If I have enough money and buy an airplane, who’s to say my friend won’t buy two spaceships? There will always be someone who does it bigger or spends more or has more, so why let that bother you?” I think the happiness of the people of Jamaica truly lies in this idea of being content no matter your station.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is that despite the troubled history, the political problems, and the poverty that have plagued this beautiful island, the people of Jamaica find contentment regardless of their station in life. I wish this were the case for those of us living in more “developed” countries. It also makes me really re-think how I’m living my life. Am I pursuing good or just the next “thing” that I think I need? Am I living a full life as opposed to living a life full of things? Have I focused on friends and relationships more than stuff? For me, personally, no, but I’m trying. Andrea has helped a lot with this in that she always places greater weight on making memories than she does things.

As I close this out, my own personal challenge will be to learn to be content in life, and to not only focus on making good memories, but also help others make good memories. Whether that’s through painting down at Uncorked Inspiration, or by simply hanging out with friends and family. I hope you’ll think about these things as well. 

So, as they say in Jamaica when they’re taking off but know they’ll see you the next day, “Mi a leff, inna di morrows, mon.”

Small business is the heart and soul of our nation. I fully believe that. But holy fuck it’s hard. Andrea and I both work full time. We both enjoy our jobs. She’s a librarian at one of our local grade schools, and I work for the university. We enjoy a salary and benefits, both of which are based upon our multiple degrees.

So why would two sane (okay, she is, but maybe I’m not?) people, start a business together when they both have full time jobs with benefits and stability?

All I can come up with is love.

Okay, I know, that’s a strange answer, but bear with me. I enjoy my job, but I love art. I love good design. I love drawing. I love painting. I love hanging out with people. I even love drinking beer and wine.

And, strangely enough, Andrea loves me. (sometimes I wonder why)

So the answer is love. At least for us. Andrea’s mind is sharp and amazing and she carries us onward with her amazing bookkeeping abilities and her burgeoning social media expertise. And me? I simply claim to be the talent. I know, it’s pretentious, but it does make a funny joke. But literally, that may be all I’m good for.

Honestly, though, there are days where it sucks. There are weeks where I’ll be broken down because of the things I’ve had to deal with, and truth be told, so will Andrea. And it will still be Friday, and we will still have an event, and we will still love all of you. Because despite how hard it is, I love this business. And in a small way, I think Andrea does, too. The fact that we love each other and we love interacting with our guests is what pulls us through. But back to the suck…

On a daily basis, with my ‘real’ job, I deal with many different issues. “Can you add this to the text of such and such page.” Or “Can you make the picture fill the screen, but not mess up the text?” Or, “Do what you want… “ only to be replaced later by, “Why on earth did you do THAT?” Okay, it’s not actually that bad, but there have been times when it seems like it. I guess my point is that we all deal with a multitude of crap. I mean, seriously, Andrea has told me many times about the first grader who knows exactly what book he or she is looking for… “Mrs. Wollenberg… it’s blue… it has a cover… and a kitty on it… “ And have you ever wondered how many blue books with a cover and a kitty are in the library? I hope you see my point.

Being employed full time and owning a small business, though, is a lot like having two or three full time jobs. At least it feels that way, sometimes. When you’re working full time and own a small business, you still have to manage your small business as if you worked there full time, even when you don’t. I’m sure some of my co-workers think it’s a bit strange when I try to quietly answer our business phone, “Uncorked Inspiration, this is Neal.” It’s a strange balancing act. An act that has required me to sometimes work through lunch hours at my full time job in order to leave a bit early so I can go set up, or make up for time when I had to go down to Uncorked to meet someone to sell a painting. Any number of things like that.

It’s also a balancing act when you’re trying to “have a life” outside of work. I can’t even count how many times I’ve had to tell close friends “Sorry, no, we can’t go out Friday night because we have a paint and sip.” We’ve literally gotten to an age where we truly realize the importance of those times with friends, and yet here we are trying to grow a business. Some people might even ask, “Is it worth it?”

Truthfully, yes. It is. There are hard parts. There are the parts where I’m back cleaning brushes. There are parts where we might not have as many painters as we’d like. There are even times when we question whether or not we were stupid to do something like this. But then there are also times when I see a technique work well for a painter, or something clicks for them, or just the joy I see when they’re painting with us. As cliché as that may sound, it completely makes it worth it. So we continue on, constantly trying to improve, constantly putting our very best out there. Then, randomly, someone comes up to me and says, “I know how hard it is to ‘be up front’… to be the one ‘performing’… making the jokes. And you do such a great job of it. Every time I’ve come, you keep it fresh and fun.” When someone says something like that, it floors me. Because I know my goofy dad jokes, and puns, and off-color humor about our one-inch ‘man’s brush’ is a little bit old hat for many of our repeat offenders… but to hear that they still feel there is freshness and most of all fun… totally makes it worth it. The truth is, I have never done an event where I’ve thought, “I hate my job.” It’s quite the opposite. I may be tired at the end of the weekend, missing my friends and the things we do together, but I always feel love for what I do. That’s how I know it’s right.

Thanks for being a part of this with us.

-Neal

We all say we “owe” someone thanks… but if I were to truly drag a heartfelt ‘thank you’ from my gut, it would be for Gary Pillard. But how do you thank someone for changing your life for the better? For believing in you? For being the one teacher who did what came natural to him… teach. I love the English language because of its flexibility, nuance, and all around fucked-upness. But for this man, I have no words. To say that I love him would simply be an understatement. To say that he impacted my life. Again, not enough. Even to say that this man changed the course of my life… I truly cannot express in words what he means to me.

It’s highly likely that I owe Mr. Pillard my life. I remember when I was in 8th grade. There was immense pressure to perform. He graded us on one piece of art per week. He generally selected the media. And I remember one week… it was an ink drawing. He encouraged stippling and OH MY FUCKING GOD I hated it. Stippling is literally the most time consuming, hateful, shitty, go shoot yourself in the head technique. I broke down. I lost it. I could not finish or go on. It was the one week where I did not have a finished piece. Mind you, in 8th grade, I had already established myself as the star student. I was the cream of the crop, bound for greatness, gonna’ be a damn rock star. And I failed.

That week, I failed so miserably. I had a half-finished drawing. It was some farm scene from one of the photos I’d taken at a threshing bee. (We do that in Kansas and Missouri every now and then). And it was cool. It was the start of a good piece. But it was unfinished. Unworthy. Deemed unfit for a grade… at least in my mind.

I stood at the front of the art room, my drawing, taped to my art board. Unfinished. Unholy. Unworthy of critique.

And Mr. P said this, “Looks like you need another week.”

That was it. No further comments. Just… take another week. Listen, I had broken down that week. I was on my edge emotionally. I had told my mom and dad that I hated art and that I couldn’t finish the drawing. I was done. The semester could not have ended soon enough.

“Looks like you need another week.”

The tension flooded from my body. I could do nothing more than re-cover my drawing with the butcher paper that was taped to my art board and go sit at my art table. There had never been a more obvious form of forgiveness in my life. God knows my dad had demanded perfection from me. “Why can’t you hold that flashlight still?!” But my art teacher, Mr. P, Pill, Gary, Mr. Pillard… (such a fucking art name, right?) opened up a can of grace on me that day. “Looks like you need another week.” No judgment. No ridicule. No need to grade it at this point.

I finished that ink drawing. It earned a blue ribbon at both the Mother’s Day Art Show at MJHS and it got a grand champion ribbon at the county fair and a blue ribbon at the state fair. And to top it off, I sold that motherfucker for a whopping $50 to some lucky SOB who I can’t even remember. You’re welcome, by the way. I signed it. Maybe you can ebay it for a couple $100 or something. I don’t even know. It ended up being a good drawing. But the lesson I received was grace. From a man to whom I owe so much.

The thing is, it wasn’t just his grace or his attitude about art. He gave me a job. It was the first job I’d ever had that had set hours and a set hourly wage. And it was $10/hour! In the mid-80’s this was what poor people called rich. What did I do? Did I have to make amazing art? Did I have to prostitute my design skills? Ummm, yeah, no. I had to pug clay. You might ask what that means, and sure, I’ll try to give you the synopsis. Basically, we took five gallon buckets of leftover unbaked clay, added water, let it sit for a bit, then shovelled it into a machine called a pug mill. The pug mill augered it, squished it, and squeezed most of the extra water from it, then produced a long cylinder of new clay that we bagged in weights of 5 pounds. And I got paid $10/hour to do that. In the 80’s. I was… finally… rich. Thinking back, honestly, I’d probably go pug clay for that wage any day, even in this day and age.

My whole point is this. Mr. P gave me a job that I could be proud of. That I could not only earn a bit of scratch from, but also learn a bit from. The process of reconstituting old clay involved different processes. Kind of like life. We gather our old bits. We take our wisdom. We put them all in a bucket and we mix them up. Then, we shovel them into the pugmill of life, which mushes it all up, squeezes it, and pushes out the excess stuff and we get some new things with which we can create some amazing things. In short, the pugmill clay is just as good as the new clay we get, but it comes at the price of history, knowledge and wisdom. And that’s a good thing.

But this is supposed to be about Gary and what he’s meant to me. It was more than a job. Mr. Pillard taught me that cheating isn’t cool. It doesn’t advance you. And it was a hard fucking lesson. In one of my other blogs, I mentioned the physics test. I cheated on it and when Mr. Smith and Mr. Pillard found out… I lost my chance to be a part of an art show that could have changed my life. There was something to be learned about integrity there. I figured it out for the most part. Of course, I’ve made mistakes since, but goddamn that is a huge reminder for me. And it hurt. I was devastated. I should have been in that show. I don’t even know how it could have changed my life. Paths not taken, or maybe mistakes that force us onto a different path. I don’t know. But it had an impact on me.

The Art Club Hall of Fame

I’m not a part of the Marysville High School Art Club Hall of Fame. Nor will I ever be. And I’m sort of okay with it. It kind of sucks because I wanted it for my entire high school career. I was a Freshman when Mr. Pillard created it, and I’d hoped that by the time I had been through college, I’d return to Marysville, accept my spot in the HoF, and life would be grand. But, as I moved into my Junior year, my plans changed drastically, and there were also rules.

Rule 1. You must be an art club member in good standing for 4 years.

Rule 2. You must graduate from Marysville High School.

Rule 3. You must pursue a career in the arts.

Those were the basic rules that were required in order for one to be admitted into the art club hall of fame in Marysville Kansas. And I lost out because of one rule. Rule 2. You must graduate from Marysville High School.

The thing is, I left Marysville after my junior year of high school. Things had become pretty awful for me. Some of it was my own doing, and some of it was because of my station in life. Some of it was because of how so many perceived my father and my family. Marysville is a small community. Everyone knows everything about you. And in the 80’s, bullying wasn’t really treated in the same manner it is now. We grew up having to “tough it out” knowing that “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”. But words actually do hurt you. Bullying can lead to hating yourself, or doing things you wouldn’t normally do, or even worse. I was running scared by my junior year, and I needed to get out.

So I did. I went to Manhattan, KS, attended my senior year at Manhattan High, and lived in Jardine apartments with my mom while she went to K-State to finish her Master’s degree. And in so doing, exempted myself from the Art Club Hall of Fame. It is, to this day, the one regret I have about moving from Marysville. All the other qualifications are there. I have a career in the arts, and I was an art club member in good standing for 3 years (would have been 4 had I not moved, I assume). I know it wouldn’t have really opened any doors for me within my career, but just having been a part of it would have meant a lot to me. However, if I had to do it over again, I’d likely choose the same path. Bullying is a powerful persuader.

So, where does this leave everything? The same place it began. Gary Pillard was an amazing teacher. He was the teacher who I look back on who had the most impact on my life. He was fair, he cared about what was happening in his student’s lives. And he made a difference in my life.

To my knowledge, Gary still lives just south of Marysville, and was present (at least for a short bit) during the demolition of the art annex. That’s obviously a whole ‘nother blog post, because to be honest, that place was like a second home for me, and when I found out they were razing it, I cried. Gary also has an art piece in the permanent collection at Highland Community College called “Nature’s Patterns”. Gary’s wife, Vicki, passed away in 2013, and I can’t even imagine the heartbreak Mr. P has endured because of that event. To me, at the age of 60, she was young, and having had her as my English teacher during my sophomore year… hell, she meant a lot to me as a student as well, so I simply can’t imagine how hard that had to have been and continues to be for Gary.

So how do I finish a post about someone who meant so much to me. Someone who continues to influence me to this day? I don’t know if I can. I mean, the last sentence will come, but will this post ever be finished? Not likely. Gary Pillard is an amazing human being and was a great teacher. He still would be a great teacher had he not retired. My one regret is that when I left Marysville behind, I left Mr. Pillard behind, as well. Since I rarely if ever go back to Marysville, I wonder if he feels that way, too? That I just… escaped and never returned or acknowledged him. I hope not. So this is for you, Pil. I love you. You were my second father, and you taught me so much. I am an artist because it was born into my blood, but I am also an artist because you helped cultivate the artistic soul within me, and helped it grow into what it is today. I owe you a lifetime of debt.

-Neal

“Poverty was the greatest motivating factor in my life.” – Jimmy Dean

I tried to think up my own quote for living in poverty, but honestly, I did such a poor job of it that I decided to google “quotes about poverty” and found that Jimmy Dean quote. I honestly can’t think of a better assessment for why I’ve made the decisions in my life that I’ve made and how I’ve tried to live. In truth, poverty truly was the greatest motivating factor in my life. If it hadn’t been for poverty, I may not have developed into the artist that I am. Hell, I may not have picked up a pencil and placed it on paper at all, but for the fact that I needed an escape from the everyday shit show that was my life. It was either that or reading. And believe me, the public library was my best friend growing up, as well.

So, what did art mean to me while I was growing up? As I think back, I remember back to kindergarten. My favorite time of day was to do something, anything, that was artistic or crafty. There was always something for me. I mean, the scent of a new pink pearl eraser or a freshly sharpened No. 2 pencil. Those two things take me back to the times when I first set pencil to paper, and subsequently erased the marks I’d made. Because art really is about correction, just like writing is about editing. But that aside, I loved everything about art time. It was my escape from everything. And when it was over, the world came crashing back down. I didn’t have control over the situations that surrounded my life, but I did have control of being able to draw.

So, art, generally, gave me the ability to do something extraordinary. I know Bob Ross talks about practice, and others talk about repetition and doing things until you are so good at them that you’re an expert. But I also believe in the idea that some are born with particular gifts. Some are prone to athletics. I mean, I know I love basketball and football, and I could practice both of those sports until I was exhausted, but I’d never be that good. Sure, maybe good enough to play in high school, but to take it up to the level of college or professional? Nah, not so much. But art and music. Those two things seemed to be wired into me. I knew from the first time I understood what a pencil and paper could do that I could draw. And it was that knowledge that allowed me to escape where I was in life.

When I really get into my artwork. Not just from a forced, “I need to do this” kind of angle, but when I truly get into it. I lose myself. I lose concept of time, and where I’m at, and it simply becomes a part of me. Those are my favorite times. I can sit for hours in front of my easel painting, and my body doesn’t tire. My eyes don’t lose focus. And every mark and every brush stroke seem to line up exactly the way I intend. I think this must be how athletes who find themselves in the “zone” feel. They can’t miss a 15-foot jumper, or every single pass from the quarterback hits the wide receiver in stride. Or when a musician loses herself in the music and could perform for hours without being exhausted. I feel badly for people who are never able to experience this in some manner.

But the title of this post is “What Art Meant to Me Growing Up”. And the reality is, it was everything. Without art, I would never have had the experiences I’ve had. The highs and the lows. The love and the disappointment. Let me chat with you about some of those.

Kindergarten

There was something about the creation of that clown. It wasn’t anything special. I mean, among a kindergarten class of like five, I think my teacher, Miss Cindy, deemed it a solid second place. I think my friend Doug got first place. Of course, I blamed it on the fact that he was the teacher’s pet. Creating the clown, though. That was what I remember. The smell of the vinyl swatch from the big “catalog” book. The combination of greens and blues and how much fun it was to cut it with “grown up” scissors. Gluing it to the paper, and of course, coating the back of my hand with a thin layer of Elmer’s Glue so that it would make my skin look “old” when it dried. Then coloring the face in, adding the yarn for the hair, and a big fluff ball to the top of the clown’s hat. Every detail is so memorable to me. It was, quite literally, unadulterated fun. And I hated it when the art time ended. If I’d been able, I’d have done art all day, every day.

Second Grade

I hate to skip first grade, but honestly, I don’t even know if we did art in first grade. I remember snack break and those small half-pints of milk and tiny straws. I remember meeting my best friend for life, Tyron, for the very first time on the swings at recess, when we sat facing each other and laughed at every single cuss word we knew. For whatever reason, though, I don’t recall a lot of art in Mrs. Crow’s class. Perhaps that was because I left in the middle of the year to move to Ogden, Kansas, and changed over to Ogden Elementary. Ahh, yes, maybe there was some art, afterall. I think I remember we made a tracing of our whole body on butcher paper and got to color it in. And maybe even did two so that we could stuff tissue in it and staple the sides together to make some weird kind of full sized paper doll.

But Second grade. I remember second grade. And I remember, aside from getting second place in kindergarten in my class of five, that this was the first time that I understood the concept of competition. I won first place in a poster contest for traffic safety. I received a kite, and I think some free tickets to the Shrine Circus, along with getting my picture in the paper. I guess thank God that current juried shows give out money for prizes instead of kites. Although, kites are pretty cool.

Sixth Grade

Obviously, we’re skipping ahead. I’m sure I got to do some amazing projects with all of my teachers, but sixth grade was transitional for me. It’s when I truly began to believe I could be an artist. It was during my sixth grade year in Mrs. Williams’ class, that we were allowed to do an acrylic painting for a Mother’s Day gift. We were told to sift through magazine covers or old photos and find some suitable ideas to paint. I had chosen two. One was a white sparkly cross on a purple background and the other was an old grain mill scene. I ended up choosing the old mill scene based on the recommendation of a man who would later become somewhat of a surrogate father to me. Mr. Gary Pillard.

Art time was in the afternoon, after our third recess, and honestly, I couldn’t wait. I loved the scent of the paint, the feel of the brushes, and everything about it. It was during that time that I painted, learned, and for the first time, really felt like an artist. At the end of everything, by the time Mother’s Day was close at hand, Mr. Pillard came up to me and told me that I should enter my painting into the county fair. Until now, recognition had simply been my peers and maybe a teacher every now and then. Not that the opinion of 12 year old boys doesn’t matter, but frankly, it was more about, “can you draw boobs?” than any real affinity for creating art. So for me, this was big. I couldn’t wait for my mom to see it, and further, tell her and my dad that “the High School Art Teacher!” had told me I should enter it in the county fair!

And so I did. My dad, bless his heart, even made a frame for me out of oak. Sanded, mitered, and finished with polysomethingorother to give it a beautiful gloss. And I won first place. At the time, I had no idea that “the High School Art Teacher!” was also the judge of the artwork at the Marshall County Fair.

Seventh Grade

Remember how I said there were highs and lows? This is one of the lows, and it’s one of those things that could have derailed someone who was not only young and impressionable, but also incredibly insecure. I mean, in sixth grade, I was in that transitional state. It’s that time where boys really should shower, wear clean clothing, and just generally make sure their hygiene is passable. Mine wasn’t. Going into seventh grade wasn’t a lot different. I know, so many people say just because you’re poor doesn’t mean you can’t be clean. I get that, and they’re right. To be honest, I hadn’t really been taught that. I was told that too many showers or too many baths would dry out my skin, so just bathe once per week. Thankfully, in seventh grade, I also had PE, and at that time, when we had PE, we showered afterward.

Seventh grade was also the first time I knew I would get to spend an entire 9-weeks doing art for 1-hour per day. My excitement and anticipation was unending. However, I wasn’t scheduled to take art until the second 9-weeks. But I was so excited about working with “the High School Art Teacher!” Mr. Pillard. I hoped he would remember me from the time he came to visit us in 6th grade and had told me I should enter my painting into the county fair. In my boyish mind, I knew I’d be his star pupil. I’d garner his praise, and he would mentor me into future art greatness. I also knew I wanted to do a drawing. Something that would be really cool and show my skills and hopefully impress “the High School Art Teacher!”. So I sat down one evening with a copy of the local paper, which featured a Friday night football article and accompanying photo. I drew the photo. Sometimes my paper overlapped the newspaper, sometimes not, and I never considered that my pencil marks would pull ink from the newspaper onto the back of my drawing. In the end, I had a drawing of which I was fairly proud.

Much like Ralphie Parker in “A Christmas Story” and his for sure “A” essay about his Red Ryder BB Gun, I had my art in hand, ready to present it at the opportune moment, waiting to bask in the glory of the accolades I knew I’d receive from “the High School Art Teacher!” Mr. Pillard. I just knew he would be thrilled to have an up and coming student who would change the art world at Marysville Junior High School. So I gave my drawing to a friend who I knew was in that 9-weeks of art. I was desperate for an opinion. Excited, full of expectation of being “the next great artist” of Marysville.

When I saw my friend during passing period after his art class, I walked up to him, confident of my success and asked, “So… what’d he say?”

He looked at me, an expression of contempt etched across his face. “He said you traced it.”

Obviously, I hadn’t heard him right. I smiled and laughed. “What?”

He shook his head, “He said you traced it. There was newspaper ink on the back of your drawing from the photo.”

I shook my head, “I didn’t trace it. What the hell? I drew it free hand.”

“Yeah you traced it, Mr. Pillard said you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Where’s my drawing?” I asked.

“I threw it away. You traced it.”

My heart dropped and in that moment, I felt lower than I’d ever felt in my life. And despite the fact that I was only twelve, I’d had some pretty low times up to that point. Shit happens when you grow up poor.

And for that semester, because of that one comment. I was a pariah. Everyone in that class “knew” that I had traced that drawing. Like most hot gossip, the word spread throughout the seventh graders that I was a fraud. That I had traced a drawing and tried to pawn it off as my own work. And I was devastated. Everything within me wanted to simply curl up and go to sleep and simply never wake up. I told my mom and dad. Dad brushed it off and I think said something about getting tough skin. But my mom simply told me to prove him wrong.

And so, when my 9-weeks came around, I did just that. I drew more and better than I had in my entire life and I cemented my place within “the High School Art Teacher!”’s heart. And that was life changing.

To my knowledge, Mr. Pillard doesn’t remember this event. And I’m okay with that. He changed my life for the better, and for that, I accept the pain and the anger that I felt when I had been wrongly accused. Because in the end, it forced me to be a better artist.

Time moved forward as it does, and I developed as an artist. I learned to paint in acrylics and oils. I began to understand ceramics, and batik, and other techniques that just seemed… right. I loved art.

Unfortunately, during my freshman year, I experienced another down… but it was of my own doing. I’d been accepted to the “Gold Show” at KU, however, the week prior to the show, I was caught cheating on a Physics exam. Mr. Pillard had a no cheating policy, and because of that, myself and my work never went to Lawrence. Lesson learned… you work to get ahead… you don’t cheat.

During my sophomore year, I painted a painting that, again, Mr. Pillard told me I should enter into the county fair. I won grand champion for it. And that was the year that I found out he was the judge. It was a good painting, but was it the grand champion? Or was it a nod to the fact that I had gone from the boy who he thought had traced a picture, to the artist who was finding his own way in the art world? I don’t know and I’ve never asked.

In short, art has given me an outlet. A way to define myself. A way to find solitude and sometimes even happiness. It’s also a way to make money. From working for Mr. Pillard pugging clay to odd jobs of sign painting and art and graphic design. It is in my veins. It is my life. It’s what I know, and how my soul speaks. It’s my life. One day, and I’m okay with this day, it will likely be my passing. But I will have created and made art and left a mark on the world, even if it is simply a small paint stain on a sidewalk. So I will be happy. How could I ask for more?

-Neal

When pressed for influences, most artists will likely claim historically famous predecessors: Pablo Picasso, Vincent VanGogh, Leonardo DaVinci, Egon Scheele, Claude Monet, etc. I think for many of us, there’s a certain loftiness to claiming that our work or our techniques are influenced by the masters. And while this may be true, I think for me, personally, the one major player in painting who has influenced me the most would be Bob Ross.

While most serious artists tend to giggle or even outright scoff at the idea of Ross being a major influence on their work, I’d point out that as young artists, it was very likely that he was the first or one of the first visual artists we were exposed to. I mean, who didn’t have PBS back in the 80’s? And if you were into art like I was, then you were sitting there in front of the tube, tuned in and listening to the dulcet tones of Bob’s voice, gently guiding you through the forests and mountains of all of those amazing worlds he created for us.

If you think about it, most artists can be highly self-critical, insecure, and completely at the mercy of the opinions of others about our work. Especially at those formative ages. And who was the one who would simply smile at us, his eyes twinkling a bit as he taught us that it was our world, we could do whatever we wanted… it doesn’t matter. He’d tell us we’d need to be brave as he showed us how to paint a happy little tree? Good ol’ Bob. The man with the perm. That gentle and loving dad that some of us simply never had.

Because of this, Bob Ross has always been a big deal to me. Someone I admire. If there were a holy trinity of people who brought some little piece of heaven to earth, Bob would be in it, most likely hanging out with Fred Rogers and Steve Irwin.

The thing is, Bob was so much more than just a gentle painter that “serious artists” kind of snicker about. His life demonstrated so many good things. Things that would likely be very helpful for our world, our peers, our co-workers, and even ourselves. Most people don’t really think about it, but Bob was a good steward of the earth and of the creatures that inhabited it. And I think those little guys knew it. I mean, who else would let a baby squirrel nest around in that gorgeous perm? Every time I think of that little squirrel, “PeaPod”, I smile. Any time Bob showed us his little rescued animals, he always smiled, and he always had a good word or two to say to us about how we needed to take care of these little creatures, and the earth, so that they’d be around for us.

Bob Ross kept things simple. Whether it was painting, or the way he dressed, or each movement of the brush on the canvas. Everything seemed to have order and purpose. Criss-cross brush strokes dancing across the canvas. Circular strokes as he blended. Two hairs and some air as he gently pulled his palette knife across a majestic mountain top. Even when he’d beat the devil out of his old two-inch brush he had a reason for it. Part of the reason was that he just loved doing it, but in most cases, he wanted that brush to be as dry as possible so that he could properly blend the paints using the wet-on-wet technique he’d made so famous. There was always a reason, and he always made it seem like he was having the best time of all of us. Maybe that was his secret. He was having more fun than everyone else. Yes, we might have been learning. Yes, we might have smiled at his funny hair, or his goofy phrases like, “Happy little trees” or “Majestic mountains”, but the reality is, the joke was kind of on us, because he was having fun and putting a happy buck in his pocket while doing something he loved.

As I think about Bob Ross’ contribution to the world, I think about a lot of the things he said and gave to his viewers over the years. I recall how he always spoke about contrast. The dark. The light. How both were necessary. Both were components that created opposites, but that they had to work together. And while it’s not directly related, that idea of dark and light co-existing reminded me of a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. One of his most famous lines, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” And it simply reminds me that it’s required that we have both the dark and the light so that we know the difference between the two. Was that Ross’ intent? To subtly insert things like that into his show in order to remind us that our differences are what make us interesting? That our differences actually help us? That our differences serve an important purpose? I’d like to think maybe.

That quote, though, the one about light and dark… I think maybe he was even being a little bit open and vulnerable about depression.

“Gotta have opposites, light and dark and dark and light, in painting. It’s like in life. Gotta have a little sadness once in awhile so you know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.” -Bob Ross

I’ve often wondered what good times he was waiting on, and since depression is one of those things I’ve struggled with my entire life, I feel as if I can truly identify with those words. Sometimes, I’m also waiting on the good times. The question I have, though, is do we have to wait on them or can we actively seek them out? I think we can look for them. One way I do that is through art. At some point, I hope you’ll also do art, or maybe you’ll come paint with us some evening so that together, we can actively seek out the good times and won’t have to wait on them.

There are so many other things we could learn from Bob besides a fast and lazy way to paint. Yes, I said lazy. Even Bob would admit that he was one of the laziest painters in the world. I loved that about him. We could learn from that. Find a fast and efficient way to do things. Might not be the way you learned to do it in art school, but it worked, right? He also taught us that everyone needs a friend. Didn’t matter that it was a tree. Didn’t matter that it was Pea Pod the squirrel. What mattered was that we all have a fundamental need for people and nature in our lives. We all need friends. He taught us to believe in ourselves, and that talent is a pursued interest. He even taught us not to be so tough on ourselves. Remember, we don’t make mistakes. We just have happy little accidents.

Most importantly for me, though, is that he taught us it was okay to be weird. Event stated it outright.

“I guess I’m a little weird. I like to talk to trees and animals. That’s okay though; I have more fun than most people.” -Bob Ross

For a pre-teen who grew up in a dirt poor household, wore Walmart tennis shoes until they wore out in a month (only to take them back and force them to trade them for a new pair for free), sometimes didn’t smell so great in a hot and stuffy sixth-grade classroom because bathing in our household just didn’t seem to be that important, and whose dad liked to dress up like Wonder Woman for public parades in a very small town, these were magic words, and I needed to hear them. I needed to know that I wasn’t alone. Bob Ross helped me understand that. It’s okay to be a little weird.

That’s one of the many reasons I cling to the idea of him as a mentor, and as one of my most important artistic influences. Yes, I love the art of the old Masters. I’ve learned from it, copied it, and used it as stepping stones to find my own way. But Bob Ross was different. Yes, he taught me different painting and artistic techniques, but the most valuable things were the gifts he gave to me that weren’t simply about art, but about life.