The Privilege

I nearly drowned when I was five years old, which connected me to a realm not looked at favorably by the contemporary atheistic, secular, and science-rational society around me. My parents were also atheistic, which created a strong internal conflict—a need to belong—alongside other early life challenges that involved both physical and mental violence. This juxtaposition became the rocket fuel that propelled me into studying and expressing my journey through substance abuse, depression, rebellion, and a deep search for relief.

The New Age space—with its texts, psychedelics, breathwork, pyramids, conspiracy theories, and more—became a portal to make sense of a world that otherwise didn’t. After years of wrestling to find material worth diving deeply into as an adult, I finally feel I graduated to the Bhagavad Gita over a year ago, even though I had already connected with the community since 2020.

The Gita (As It Is by HDG A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada) finally connected my journey through the ancient pyramids and the ideas of ancient civilizations to their contemporary, unbroken lineage from the Vedas. I’ve traveled to nearly 60 countries and studied whatever I could get my hands on from teachers who’ve resonated with me throughout my life. I’ve had experiences of past lives—as a man, a woman, of various races—as well as communication with beings from other dimensions with DMT. Through practices like breathwork, I’ve even spent time in the presence of God.

In the arts, and in contemporary Western society more broadly, I’m seen through the lens of being a “straight white male with privilege,” regardless of my values, work, or intentions. Ironically, within the arts, that may now be the least favorable form to have. Everything I do is filtered through intense scrutiny, suspicion, and often outright suppression. I’m simultaneously told I have privilege, but offering an authentic point of view on contemporary politics from my form feels like trying to push toothpaste back into the tube—with shovels for hands. Culturally, we’re just not going there—and those who do, inside the arts, are treated like modern-day lepers.

Of course, this whole conversation is absolutely alive and raging across the internet today.

I don’t know how to reconcile any of it, other than to express the truth of how it is for me—sometimes through neon signs.

If the collector will pay the cost and postal of the print, I will send a signed one of top of the sale if so desired.