When my father was a young man, he sold Triumph motorcycles across Ohio, Illinois, Michigan, and the surrounding states. He loved the work, the open road, the smell of gas and grease, the satisfaction of putting the right machine in the right hands. But when Triumph went belly up, he lost his job. Instead of folding, he took a chance. With the money he’d saved, he bought a small gas station… just before the Reagan-era Oil Crisis hit. The timing was rough, but he held steady.

At the same time, he was running a lawn maintenance company. Mowing lawns in the summer. Plowing parking lots in the winter. Fixing what needed fixing in between. And somehow, on top of all that, he still found time to volunteer as a fireman in a blip of a town off I-75, 30 minutes outside Detroit.

He didn’t talk much about it. He just did it, he got up early, and he came home late because that’s what you did back then. He was true to his family and the work he put into all of it, through action, not words, was honest, grounded, and real.

That determination stuck with me.

Erosion of Trust

What does it mean to live like that in a time like this? When so much of life is filtered, curated, self-promotional, engineered to be watched rather than lived? Can society still be that kind of solid? And overall, what’s the difference between something that’s real and something that’s true?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about that a lot more than I expected. About how hard it is these days to even locate the truth. In the news or on social media. How rare it is to find something unfiltered, something meaningful that hasn’t been shaped for attention.

Maybe it’s a slow erosion of trust, from public figures, from systems, even the local car wash, which recently told me my truck was too dirty for the car wash… Huh? And sometimes, unfortunately, from people we once held close. There’s a weariness that sets in when you realize how many things are built on projection, persuasion, or performance. And how many people, knowingly or not, go along with it.

But I don’t think anyone sets out to deceive. Well, maybe I think people desperately want to believe in something. I’ve seen this up close.

The Yellow Bellied Marmot

Maybe it’s the years I spent in advertising, where shiny objects mattered more than substance. Attention became the currency, and truth, more often than not, got left behind. I watched too many good ideas die the familiar death by a thousand cuts. Worn down by too many opinions, too many people talking just to be heard or to keep their jobs, and not enough trust in the original spark.

At one point, I had to give credit for an award-winning campaign to someone who had nothing to do with the work. Not one ounce of energy toward the final output. But they were loud and stayed late often, so they could brag about the sacrifice they made. They performed like a yellow-bellied marmot looking for a mate, yipping and barking something awful. Some people believed them more than in the truth of what was actually happening.

In general, people want something to believe in. But sometimes we follow volume instead of value.

The Difference

That’s why I keep coming back to art. Of all the things I’ve done, it’s the one place where I feel the most true to myself.

Even then, it’s complicated. I see something that stirs me, a shadow on a rooftop, a cat in the street, a man at the bar, the color of the sky just before dark. I sketch it. Shape it. Nudge it into something slightly more poetic. I’m not documenting reality, I’m interpreting it. I exaggerate a line, push a color, alter a mood. And yet, it still feels true. Because I’m not trying to replicate it. I’m trying to interpret it in my own visual voice.

That difference matters.

Bravery

I’ve seen that same kind of honesty in the bravery of people who leave behind everything familiar to to chase something they can’t quite name. People who step away from comfort, structure and security, not because they’re lost, but because they’re looking for a different kind of life. Not even because they have a plan, but because they have a need: for air, for meaning, for something they can’t find in the defining noise. That kind of choice isn’t flashy. It doesn’t trend. But it’s courageous. And it resonates.

What’s the Lesson

Maybe it’s to trust yourself. Trust your gut. Keep moving toward the things that feel solid and sincere, even when the world seems engineered to distract and deceive. That’s not easy now, when even your own eyes can lie to you. When AI can make a talking Bigfoot and a Yeti run amok in the forest and look flawless. Sometimes even reality feels slippery.

Burn it

I once had a dear friend, RIP Dave, who did something I’ll never forget. Shortly after graduating from art school with a degree in Art Direction, after four years of hard, thoughtful work, he walked into our warehouse in Corktown and burned his entire portfolio right there on the floor. Back then, portfolios were sacred, printed, laminated, and bound. We treated them like shrines to our identity and our future careers. And he lit his on fire, one page at a time, until it was gone.

At the time, I thought he was crazy. Maybe he was. But it was also one of the most honest expressions of emotion I’d ever seen. A full-body refusal to play along. Raw. Bold. Impossible to forget.

What Matters?

So what matters?

For me, it’s art. Friendships that last. People who keep their word. Conversations that don’t need a filter. People who show up without an agenda. Doing something not because it’s expected, but because it feels necessary. It’s the quiet conviction to keep going, even through paralyzing fear, when the path is unclear.

And this summer, I was reminded of that. The people who came to the gallery were exactly what I had been searching for, real and true. They showed up with open hearts, asked questions that mattered, and gave their time, presence, and attention without needing anything in return. No performance. No posturing. Just quiet recognition. That’s rare. And it made the work, the risk, all worth it.

Real and True

The way I look at it is that reality is the raw material. Truth is the shape it takes when we’re honest with ourselves.

I don’t know exactly what I’m building. But I know that opening the River Aude Galerie and starting the Artist Lab as a nonprofit are steps I’m taking to be true to myself. I’m not into this for recognition. I’m going to create something that reflects what I care about, what I believe in, and what I want to invite others to share.

It’s Art…

No matter what. People can say what they want. I’m going to keep moving in that direction. Even if I don’t stick the landing. Because the alternative, a life of surface-level everything, half-truths, and sometimes bold-faced lies, is something I just won’t do anymore.

Who’s the Fool?

If all that makes me foolish, so be it.

I’d rather be a fool with paint on my hands and a studio to fool around in than someone who stopped asking what’s true and what is real.