When the Demons Move In
Art Gets Weird When You’re Fighting the Demons of Art and Grief
This is part two of a two-part blog series. If you haven’t read part one, go ahead and do that first.. this isn’t Star Wars.
So, where did I go after the color drained, and the lights went out? Short answer: I got weird. I stopped trying to force “happy” paintings when the world felt anything but. I didn’t want to paint blue skies. I wanted to paint what I actually felt—and that meant skull-headed topless women, creepy clowns hanging around in libraries, and all the ugly stuff nobody puts on a Hallmark card.
The Demons of Art and Grief
People talk about “inner demons” like it’s some big metaphor, but it’s really just your brain running its mouth. There’s grief demons—the ones that remind you how much you lost, what you forgot to say, how the world is smaller and darker now. Then there’s art demons. Those are the ones telling you that your work sucks, that nobody cares, that your last post flopped, and maybe you should finally quit and become an accountant.
Now, stack both of those together and try to get up and paint something cheerful. It’s like you’re a one-legged man in an arse kicking competition.
DB
The thing is, after posting nothing but blue skies, rural scenes and “happy little trees” I didn’t want to scare my modest fan-base away. I also didn’t want people to refer me to a psychologist. This is where Damien Bateman comes in. I didn’t invent him on purpose—He’s always “been there”. He was there when I was the goth-kid at school. He was there when I watched Freddy Krueger for the first time. He was there when I burnt my first ant with a magnifying glass (don’t judge me, we all did it.) But I had to give it, (him), and what he (it)… I… created. This is where the alter ego arrived, Damien Bateman.
Just like when Stephen King wrote under the pseudonym Richard Bachman, he did it because he didn’t think his “King” fanbase would appreciate his “Bachman” style, and so he kept them separate. Eventually, he allowed the “streams to cross” and the 4th wall was broken. He acknowledged this in his book “The Dark Half” which is an allegory of his own double identity. The point is that the Bachman Stories needed to be written, they needed to be told, and a pseudonym was the only way to get them out there without destroying the work King had already done in building his career.
Just as King acknowledged that his two personas had different writing traditions, mine two are vastly different and they make space for me to continue to create, regardless of the vibe or mood. For example, Dan Howard paints with brushes on birch panels. Damine Bateman uses collage and photoshop. Dan Howard paints recognizable scenes you hope to remember. Damien Bateman creates scenarios that you want to forget.
The Comeback Is Always Messy
Look, I’m not going to pretend that switching to creepy stuff fixed everything. But making art—even the weird kind—kept the wheels turning. It didn’t matter if I was painting rural Wisconsin, or if I was making topless skeletons with lightning bolts shooting out of their boobs. Art finds a way, even if it has to crawl out through the basement window.
Since losing both parents, I haven’t produced a lot. But I’ve found my way back to creating, bit by bit. Some days I paint, some days I don’t. Some days it’s oil on birch, some days it’s creepy clown heads on dolls. If you’re fighting your own grief demons, or your art demons, or both—welcome to the club. You’re not alone.
If you need to get something off your chest, leave a comment. If you just want to look at some weird art, check out the Damien Bateman section. If you’re somewhere in between, that’s fine too. Art’s messy. Life’s messy. But there’s always something waiting to be created, even if it’s weird.
