The Michael Jackson Era

In 1982,Michael Jackson had the number one top selling album, "Thriller". I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. That year I was in middle school. My grandmother bought me the red jacket that Michael Jackson wore including the sparkling white glove and all. I was so excited to wear it during school which was at Hans Christian Anderson Middle School in South Minneapolis. I wanted to impress my friends and all of the girls that I had crushes on. I believe my grandmother purchased the red jacket at K-mart. As soon as I received the jacket, I went to my bedroom and tried it on. I thought it was so cool! I was very thankful for my grandma to buy it for me. I just had to put on my Walkman head phones and play the "Beat It" song to complete the image. When I played the song, I ended up busting up my bedroom with a plastic bat and doing kung-fu kicks and chops. I think I was imagining I was beating up gangsters in the streets as seen in the music video. I even looked in the mirror and I thought I was pretty darn cool. I took walks to the parks and to the local stores just so I could show off my red jacket. I couldn't wait to wear it to school. I even slept with it on a few times.

Monday morning finally came around and it was time to go to school. I was extremely excited to wear my red jacket to school. I woke up and immediately washed up and ate my breakfast. I quickly packed up my red jacket in a brown paper bag and out the door I went without saying good-bye to anyone. I waited at the school bus stop and all I could imagine was what I will look like when I walked into my class room while the "Beat It" song was playing. As soon as I got to school, I went around the back of the school instead of entering in through the front doors in order to put on my red jacket and walkman head phones. I decided to go without the sparkling white glove because I thought it was too much, so I threw it away. I was ready! I started the "Beat It" song and walked into the school. I was warmly greeted by my teacher and fellow students. I could see the expression on some of the students with a awe and amazement. But soon everything came down to a grinding stop. There were three other students wearing the same red jacket! Then my teacher got a look at my coolness and confiscated my walkman. The students with the other jackets thought it was cool that we all had the same red jacket. I sat down at my desk and started working on my school work with feelings of anger and disappointment. I remember I was so mad that I had pushed my pencil down so hard I broke the lead and pencil. When I returned home after school, I rolled up my red jacket and threw it in the back of my closet to never see the light of day again.

Now that I think about that time I was this "Bushy Headed Short Little Boy" who just wanted to be cool and unique. I'm somewhat embarrassed about that time but I can still laugh about it.

Perfectionist

As far back as I can remember when I was a small boy, I've always been a perfectionist. When I made a mess or a mistake with household chores, homework and my artwork, I became very upset and frustrated. It bothered me a lot. Everything had to be perfect from what I did or what I made. I didn't expect people around me to be perfect. It was myself who I had to tend with. It was especially hard for me to play in the sand box with my friends. The sand made me feel dirty. So I stayed away from it. In grade school, my spelling was very good. Every word was perfectly within the graph lines. My writing and reading was also very exceptional. My teachers would often ask me if I wrote my homework as my father or grandmother would receive calls from the school to ask if I really did my homework. As time went by, my teachers knew I really was the one doing the spelling and writing my homework. They thought my spelling was too perfect and told me to loosen up and my school work would get done faster. I did and it frustrated me. My spelling and writing had to be perfect! When it was time for art class, which was my favorite class of all, my art teacher, Mr.John Donia would encourage me to finish my artwork. I'd want to throw it away if I made a small mistake and I think he knew that. Most of the time I did very well with my artwork and school work.

Being a perfectionist still affects me to this day. In both a positive and negative way. I try to loosen up and be messing with my household as well as my artwork. Those moments only lasted a couple of days. My clothes in my closet and dresser drawers are perfectly folded or hung in order by color. My paint and color pencils are organized in color tones side by side. Some of my prisma color pencil drawings are very detailed and tedious to produce. When I complete a drawing, it's a feeling of satisfaction and a great euphoric pleasure when I complete my work. Most times, I'm amazed at my own work when I don't see it for awhile.

My Friend Jim Rosenquist has been supporting and mentoring my painting for the past two and a half years now. I started painting full-time back in June 2005. Again my perfection has been a major factor in my painting process. Making that transition from color pencils to paint has been hard. I really didn't start painting until 2003 for the first time and that was just off and on again. Teaching myself how to paint has been a slow process. Learning by trial and error has been a learning experience for me. I'm too stubborn to ask for help from any of my artist friends. Although, it would be great if Rosenquist was here to show me some techniques. So I called him last week and asked him If I could come down for a visit so I could learn how to be a proficient painter. He accepted my proposal. He has to look at his schedule first and he'll make time for me this summer or fall. He knows I'm a perfectionist and it's slowing me down. He will teach me how to paint fast and to learn some of his painting techniques. I'm really considering on giving my acrylic paints away and switching to oils. Acrylics are just too hard to blend and that's one of the reasons why it's slowing me down. I recently have been experimenting with oils and they are starting to become easy to blend with. I think oil painting will be promising for my future. I'm confident his teachings will expand my mind in painting. I really want to loosen up and be a faster painter.

I have eleven large paintings built. Three are done and Jim Rosenquist has already purchased two of them. Three more are almost completed. That leaves me with five paintings to go where they are all in different stages of completion. I'm pretty sure they will all be done towards the end of the year,maybe sooner. I look forward to showing them in New York City. Jim Rosenquist has all good intentions for me and keeping me safe. I appreciate all that he has done for me.

Friday Night Fights

Star Wallowing Bull (1979).

Months before my sister and I moved in with our grandmother, my father was working a lot and making art. He would occasionally go out to the local bars. Which were, Commodores, Mr. Arthur's,and the Corral. Located on Franklyn Avenue in South Minneapolis. These places did not scare me at first until my father came back one night and he was full of blood and swollen up. Someone had beat him up pretty bad. Fawn and I were very hurt and sad to see him like this. Fawn,especially took it hard. I later felt very angry about this and I wanted to find this guy and teach him a lesson. I was only seven or eight years old at the time. One night I woke up and decided to go to the bar to find this guy. So I sneaked out the front door at 12:00 in the morning and I went to my friends houses in the neighborhood and knocked on their bedroom windows to wake them up. Sometimes three or four of us would go. One of them was Nate. He was around my age. He also was Native American. I just don't recall what tribe. Some of us had Big Wheels and some walked to the bars. Mr. Arthur's bar was commonly known as an Indian bar. Always some chaotic,dysfunctional event was going on after the bar closes. We didn't find that out until we got there that late morning when the bar started to close. We were right across the street and I'm surprised the police didn't say anything to us. We seemed to always know someone at the bar. I remember seeing my two auntie's there sometimes. Sandy and Kathy. I always hid behind cars because I didn't want them to see me. I knew they would get upset if they saw me. They were the two closest I had to a mother figure. They were and still am so loving and compassionate to me. I loved them just like I would a mother. I always worried about them being at those bars. I remember one night,seeing my auntie Kathy coming out of the bar. She was wearing a cowboy hat and sun glasses. I thought she looked pretty cool but it was also funny that it was 1:00 in the morning. I still tease my aunties to this day. There seems to be a fight every Friday and Saturday nights. We had made it a routine to go on some of those weekends. Fist fights, hair pulling,scratching which resulted in the police constantly breaking up those fights. There was blood everywhere! We even witnessed a stabbing. I just can't believe us kids were watching all of that. It was so uncivilized and dysfuntional for us. I am 34 years old now, and sadly I realize now how I grew up was not normal.

My Dream - Helping Hands

I recently had a dream. I was among the stars floating in space above the earth. It was quite a spectacular,peaceful sight. I was in a glass bubble in the form of a baby. I could see other glass bubbles with other babies in them sleeping. I was bumped by another bubble and I went off course into the earth's atmosphere. I started to fall and it became more rapid as I started to descend more and more. I became engulfed in fire, like a falling metorite. I could see the top of the clouds with flashes of light all over. I think they where thunder storms. I started to cry in the form of a baby. My heart was throbbing with extreme fear. As I passed through the clouds, I did not see land. I only saw the sea. I was coming in too fast and I finally hit the water. As soon as I went under I became the person I'm today,an adult. I was also naked! I started to panic under water. I didn't know which way was up. I finally found my way above the water gasping for air. I couldn't swim. I felt very helpless and I was still panicking. I saw this soccer ball floating in the distant. It was "Wilson" the soccer ball I saw in this movie called "Cast Away" with Tom Hanks. I started to scream for his help, "Help me Wilson! help me!" Over and over. Wilson just floated there with that stupid blood red smile. As I took my last breath,I went under. As I was sinking I saw a bright light below me. This light were people, thousands of them! They grabbed me and took me to the surface. I had a such a sigh of relief and I felt safe. These people where still wearing their clothes and they were chest high out of the water. I felt like I knew these people. They passed me over their heads,above the water for quite awhile to an island of sand. They layed me down on the sandy beach. I managed to get up and I realized I was still naked so I quickly covered myself up with both hands. I was quite embarrassed. These kind people started to wave goodbye and slowly started to descend back into the sea.

My dreams are so entwined with my life. This dream is a recurring fear that I have which is falling and drowning. It may be something that I need to overcome in life.

My Father's Love

My Father,sister Fawn and me (1978).

As far as I can remember, my father "Frank Big Bear" was a great inspiration for me growing up. I thought the world of him. Giving us unconditional love no matter how rough it got. We always had our father's attention with love and moral support. Making sure we ate three meals a day. Making sure we were clean along with our clothes. Keeping our visits with the Doctor and dentist. Taking us to the zoos and letting us on some of the rides, such as the Merry- Go -Around. Reading us bedtime stories and being a clown with humor. I believe my father was about twenty-five years old or so. It was very hard on him because he was a single father. To me, he was "Super Dad"

Watching him draw and paint was fascinating to me. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I wanted to be a great artist and a cab driver. I took to being an artist very well. I decided not to be a cab driver as I saw how much my father was drained and fatigued coming home each night from driving cab. Unfortunately, he was robbed multiple times while on duty. It scared me to lose my father and I was scared away from ever driving cab. Driving cab was a everyday situation just so he could take care of us. I'm still scared to this day for his life and safety. I think he's been driving for thirty years or so. Minneapolis is just too dangerous these days.

He introduced me to the Twin Cities Art Museums. I really took a liking to the Arts right away. I first went to the Institute of Arts in Minneapolis. There was an exhibition going on with knights in beautiful intricate shining armour on fake horses which were also dressed up with armour. I really got scared and ran out of the room the fist time. They reminded me of humanoid robots ready for battle from another planet. I eventually got the courage to go in. After that exhibition, we went home and I made weapons out of scrap wood from the garbage, along with a garbage can lid for a shield. I took some of my father's paint and painted a "Star" on my shield. I was very creative with the little stuff I had. My father was the driving force behind my imagination. He always encouraged my art. Being a good father was very important to him. He knew Fawn and I went through a lot during our times with our mother and foster homes. He wasn't going to let that happen to us again.

My learning disability was a cause for concern when I was in grade school. My father worked with me on my home work and a teacher from school would come in to help me twice a week. My father and teacher were wonderful but both were distracting to me.
Every time I was with my father, all I wanted to do is make art and the teacher was beautiful. She made me blush and giggle when I looked at her. I took a liking to beautiful women ever since. I think the biggest problem was my speech. It was hard for me to say certain words. It bothered me when my teachers didn't understand me.
I believed this went on during grade school and through my early year of high school.

My father struggled to take care of us as a single father for three years. It was when I was eight years old that his alcoholism got the best of him. He was starting to go out to the bars and bring back some of the parties to our home. It reminded me of my mother as she did the same. Fawn and I would wake up two or three in the morning and join the party. Playing and teasing my father's drunk friends. Again, I thought this was a way of life for us. Growing up with alcoholism around us was a typical way of life for us Native American Indians. There were some early mornings when we woke up and saw my father passed out on the couch. I thought it was disturbing and at times funny. I remember one morning I started to sketch him with my color crayons as he was passed out. I would color with my darker crayons and draw flies on him. Fawn was so worried about him all the time. I didn't know what to think. We would carry on with our lives when these days came. Fawn and I pretty much started to take care of ourselves when my father's alcoholism began to get worse. My father was a loving, caring and passionate person. When he was drunk he was even nicer. We rather see him sober. He never abused us. Always being a goof-ball and making sure we were well fed. We just didn't go anywhere fun as much as we used too. My teacher would send notes back with me for my father, stating I needed a bath and some clean clothes. I would never give the notes to my father because I didn't want him to be upset at me. We were starting to become neglected. I believe his parenting skills were starting to fade away with his addiction.

My father eventually gave us up to our grandmother. My father just couldn't take care of us anymore. It was heart breaking at first but the feeling soon faded away with my grandmother's love and attention. I'm sure my father was devastated by this decision, but it was the best for us and he was only three miles away. The cab company where he worked was just one block away from my grandmother's. Which was very convenient. Fawn and I would go wait for him after work so we can see him. My father was still the greatest. He really never went anywhere. I think he just needed some time to deal with himself.

Although my home life growing up with my dad would be considered unconventional, and to some perhaps neglect. To me he is my dad, he fought to get Fawn and I back from our terrible life with our mom and foster homes. We lived on love and survival. Most importantly, love. I'm very thankful and fortunate to have him as my father. He will always be the greatest mentor of all.

Artistic Distraction

I attended pre-school at the age of five years old. This was very traumatic at first for me when my father was dropping Fawn and I off while he went off to work as a cab driver to support our family. This really broke my heart when he left us each day. I thought I wasn't going to see him ever again. Of course he always came back to get us everyday. Fawn was somewhat okay being left alone, she always stared at me when I would cry. I eventually got over it during my pre-school days.

I believe I started kindergarten at age six. I was very shy yet always smiling. My teacher was a very nice woman. I still think of her to this day. We would sing in groups, which we all loved. My favorite was "Twinkle,Twinkle Little Star". I also enjoyed drawing with crayons on paper. I really loved to color. The children would sometimes gather around the table and watch me draw. They thought I was quite the artist. During these times, the kids would argue who would sit next to me. Most of them wanted to color with me. We were so innocent.

It wasn't until the next year during the first grade where I had trouble understanding. Because my artistic imagination was affecting my school work, everything I looked at became a piece of art. The color and designs on my teachers clothing became art. The children's clothing were interesting as well. My school work became art. The letters and numbers were becoming figures and robots. My imagination became out of control. I couldn't focus on my school work. When the teachers were talking to me,all I could hear were mumbles,like the parents on the cartoon "Charlie Brown". My father was called into the school a few times due to this problem. They questioned me of this issue but I was silenced because I couldn't explain what was going on within myself. I was too busy thinking of what to draw and color. This issue went on during my year as a first grader.

When my second year came around. I was still the same but I was a much better artist. My teachers started to notice that I had a gift. But my school work was still being affected. They started to pull me out of class once a day just so I can attend this class for "gifted students". I really don't remember a whole lot about this class,just that we were all considered equal. They were such nice teachers. I made everyone color pencil drawings, even for the other students.

I was held back in the third grade, due to this artistic intuition of mine. I became obsessed with my art. I started to draw on the back page of my school work from different classes. My teachers were concerned and some were upset I was making art instead of learning. Again,I became distracted with the environment around me. Everything was turning into works of art around me. Robots were the main characters of my imagination. Robots shooting each other. Tanks and airplanes. Sometimes, psychedelic colors would come down the wall or shoot across the class with cartoon characters. I could visually see them. I could have been hallucinating, but I know this was my imagination running wild and I couldn't stop it. Due to this process,I became verbally silent. I wouldn't talk to anyone. My grandmother had to come to school and get me to talk. This went on for the rest of the year. My grandmother and teachers could not understand what was going on with me. They thought maybe it was the traumatic situation that Fawn and I had endured during our times with our mother and foster homes, but it wasn't. My imagination went out of control.

That was just the beginning of my artistic imagination.

Meeting James Rosenquist

James Rosenquist & Star Wallowing Bull (2005).

My friend Sandy Ben-Haim had told me an artist by the name of "James Rosenquist" was coming to the Plains Art Museum. She recommended that I come and meet him, which was about a couple of months away. I had never heard of James Rosenquist before.
I thought at first he was an artist from the area. I really didn't give it much thought soon after. I just planned on being there if I wasn't too busy.

As May 2005 came around, so did James. My live-in studio was just across the parking lot from the Museum. I looked out my window as I usually do every morning and saw something going on at the Museum. I didn't pay to much attention to what was going on,so I went upon my regular routine with my color pencil drawings and coffee. Later that morning,I was starting to become hungry. All I had was rice and water. I had a bad habit of eating fast food everyday and not buying groceries. So unhealthy. I had very little money at the time but enough to make it until I get paid again. As I looked out my window again,I remembered,the artist James Rosenquist is at the Museum. This was my chance to meet him and socialize.

I made my way to the museum and walked in. The gathering was on the first floor and they had his art hanging on the back wall of the atrium. Before I approached his work I loaded up my fleece pockets with food, then I walked over to the artwork and was fascinated with his colors and cross hatching lines. I also remembered seeing his work growing up. I just didn't know the name. Another good friend of mine, Rusty Freeman had came over to me and said,"you should meet James". Rusty introduced me to him. He was pleasant to talk with and I could tell right away he had a great knowledge in the arts. We started to talk about art in New York City. I had told him about a documentary I saw of naked people who roll in paint and jump against canvas nailed to the wall. I chuckled about that. James was talking about Pop Art being over with and time for a new art form. He also told me about George Morrison and that they were friends. Rusty had told James I used to run around him when I was a kid. In fact,I use to steal some of George's artistic ideas when I was younger but I didn't tell James that. Before I left,I told him he should come by my studio next door when he's in town again. He wasn't waiting around, he wanted to go now. I felt guilty for a few minutes because he would be leaving everyone behind for awhile because he was the guest of honor. You see James is a native of North Dakota. He was in town to receive his honorary doctorate degree from North Dakota State University.

James and I walked over to my small live-in studio. I noticed he was a fast walker. He walked faster then I did, especially walking up the stairs. I could tell he took great care of his health. I also thought at the time, "What street corner or farm did the Museum find this guy"? At this time, I still didn't know who this guy was. My studio wasn't much at all. It was converted into a studio from a efficiency apartment. As soon as James walked in. He really liked my paintings. He was asking me how much I wanted for the large painting? I said,that painting is not done. James said,it looks done to me! He then proceeded to look at my smaller painting's. How much do you want for that one? I said,that's not done either. The only painting that was completed was an abstract painting of a dog, entitled "Rez Dog". He really wanted it. So I sold it to him. It's strange that nobody liked that painting but me,then James came along and he liked it as well. He also went through my drawing's which were not done but they were very colorful. I told James,I'm not doing too well with my art and I'm struggling. He told me he was once in my shoes and that we have to start somewhere. He told me not to give up and to work hard. My self-esteem greatly increased as a person and as an artist after talking with James.

I wrapped up his "Rez Dog" painting with plastic and walked him back to the Museum. I think we were gone for quite sometime. Sandy was waiting for us with a camera and she took a picture of us. I then faced James shook his hand and said "it was nice to meet you and take care". As I walked away,all I could think about was buying myself a steak dinner and buying more color pencils. James was all but forgotten until later that week when I started to find out from my friends who "James Rosenquist" was. I had no idea of his history and his stature in the art world. A legend on top of all that.

I see Jim Rosenquist the same way I do as I would any other artists. I can't see the famous person he is nor the influence he has in the art world. I see Jim for who he is. Jim has given me hope and he has helped me with so much. Jim has became an inspiration in my life, especially my friend.

I'll never forget Jim for what he has done for me...... Thank you so much Jim.