{December 2018} Why I Live in a Van, Part I

America Paints America

Written by: America Carrillo

ArtbyAmerica.com

December 2018

                                                 WHY I LIVE IN A VAN/PART ONE

Let’s start from the very, very beginning…

I’ve been an artist all my life. My earliest attempt at creative expression was using paints I found lying around to decorate my mother’s entertainment center while she slept.  In high school, the only class I looked forward to was art. I took as many art classes as I could and showed early signs of becoming a surrealist before I even understood what that was. Of course people would sort of wrinkle their brow at what I made, I was used to that, but I didn’t know any other way to create. I did become inspired by the impressionists later on which helped me settle into myself as an artist, but I was not there in high school.

I really tried to pick a career that was centered on art. If I had my way I would just paint all day, but the adults told me there wasn’t any money in being an artist. I decided to go to college for graphic design. I was good at it. I remember sweating in my guidance counselor’s office as she asked me that one question we all fear, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” How should I know?

Fast forward to my last year of college. I had done it. Gritted my teeth, sat through every single lecture, and cited every single source. I was so close to having my degree. So why was I so miserable? I was working three jobs just to keep my head above water. I was drunk Thursday through Saturday and sometimes on Sunday if I was lucky enough to find someone to buy my drinks the night before. I smoked a pack of cigarettes every day with no real recollection of when I had even started smoking. I was forty pounds overweight and I had to smoke a joint before every work shift just to make it through. If I got my hands on some Adderall, it was a good week. I hadn’t painted in three years. I would sleep until 3 pm every day, drag myself out of bed, drink a cup of coffee, and try not to think about food. I had developed an eating disorder over the years and my sudden weight gain meant eating 500 calories a day and forcing myself to the gym for hours of cardio after each shift. That was it. I did that every day for two years.

It was finals week and I was sitting in my living room smoking a bowl trying to focus on the last assignment I would ever complete. We were to design a resume. Simple enough, but I was a design student, and it had to be good. I had procrastinated the project all week and started to carelessly leaf through old magazines just praying for some sort of inspiration, anything. What happened next is hard for me to explain as it happened very abruptly. As I was flipping through the pages, I felt the smallest flicker of excitement. My heart fluttered a bit and my whole body started to tingle. I stared down at the pages and no longer saw them as they were, but began to visualize what they could be. I started cutting the pictures from their restrictive paper encasements and moving them together in the order I had pictured. The image I created… it was weird, but I really loved it. I handed it to my professor without any explanation. I saw his brow wrinkle out of the corner of my eye as I was turning to walk out the door. I had to get home. I remembered I had a few books with pictures in them under my bed.

            The following year after graduating saved my life. I was still working three jobs, but instead of sleeping all day, I was fucking jumping out of bed to work on my next collage. I would spend hours at the used bookstore looking for new concepts. I was hooked. I started to experiment with different adhesives and techniques. My friends were still inviting me to the bars, but there was no way I could spend that much time away from my books. My living room was a tornado of paper clippings and canvas. I would create all day and lose track of time. Before I knew it, I was running late for work almost every shift and even calling off some days so I could finish a project. Eventually, I was fired for truancy from a server position that I’d held for six years. I thanked the manager for the unexpected day off before racing home. There was only one thing on my mind; I wanted my creations to be bigger.

Now this is a rather lengthy story, and I will continue part two in the following newsletter, I promise. For now, I want to share with you my plan for the next phase of my newest project while I still have your attention.  The project I am referring to is called America Paints America.  I mentioned before that I was dreaming of making my creations bigger. I knew that they already had an impact on canvas, but if they were plastered on a wall, that might really get people to stop and take a look.  Not only to stop, but to pull them into the present moment and to drag them out of their daily routine. For this reason, mural art greatly intrigued me. This idea of having an impact on a complete stranger burned inside me like hot lava! I had no idea where to start. I had never painted anything larger than 16x24 inches. The only way I would be able to learn would be just to go for it, I had decided. I figured painting fifty murals ought to do the trick, one in each state. I would be a mural pro after fifty murals, and there would be a piece of me all over the country. I loved this idea. I loved this idea so much that I just went ahead and started painting. ..

TO BE CONTINUED

Side note: The image attached is the resume I designed that day in my living room. The first collage I ever created.