What the fans looked like at a major league game in 1975. I’m gonna recommend you zoom in and poke around for a minute or two. Just trust me on this one.
I painted this self portrait from a photograph the New York Post and Daily Mail ran over and over again alongside horrible stories about me. They averaged about 3 stories a day between them for years. The image came from their complete theft of my digital life. In the photograph I am in the worst stretch of my addiction. Exhausted. Contemplating how I could end everything.
They published it over and over because they believed it showed something disturbing, something degenerate, something people would recognize as evidence of whatever they were accusing me of that particular day.
I set out to paint it because I wanted to take back what they were trying to steal from me. It wasn’t just the image they had stolen. They had stolen thousands of images. They wanted to steal my humanity. Their portrait was of a monster. My portrait is of a man being reassembled piece by piece, bit by bit, pixel by pixel through the hard work of recovery.
A portrait of someone worth saving. Someone worth forgiveness. For all of me. Past. Present. Future. Gratitude for all of it.
The images they meant as weapons are no longer weapons to me. The man in them is no longer theirs to describe. He is mine, and I love him.
We do recover.
Barack: You told me all those years ago that you couldn’t promise me the world, but you could promise me an interesting life. Of course, you outdid yourself and managed to give me both.
Eight years in the crucible, and not once did you melt from the heat. Not once did you let it harden you. Instead, you used it to reveal your truest essence: your stubborn optimism and unflinching courage, your dazzling brilliance and unpretentious decency, your ferocious work ethic and absolutely unshakable moral fiber.
March 9: "We're now totally independent of the Middle East. We don't need their oil."
April 1: "It doesn't really affect us. We have so much oil. We have tremendous oil and gas, much more than we need."
June 17: If I didn't agree to the MOU, we "would run out of reserves at about 4 weeks...we would really run out, and there'll be a time when you wouldn't be able to get it."
Reagan is rolling over in his grave. Iran’s nuclear ambitions were not curbed, and they have learned that threatening the Strait of Hormuz works and will undoubtedly leverage it in the future. Now, Iran gets to build brand-new infrastructure under this deal.
Before the war, the strait was open, Iran was being crushed by sanctions, and 13 service members were still alive. Now, 13 Americans are dead, families have paid billions at the pump, sanctions will be lifted, and the bombing has stopped. This is the worst foreign policy blunder in decades.
Addiction is never an excuse, but it can be an explanation. Seeking genuine forgiveness from those we have harmed is one of the hardest things to do in recovery. It’s one of the hardest things for any of us to do in life. I’ve found that, before you begin that journey, you have to first forgive yourself. I would love to hear about your experience, strength and hope today.
This is a portrait I painted of one of many heroes of mine from the Civil Rights movement. The Rev. James Zwerg, circa 1961. He was one of the Freedom Riders, along with John Lewis, William Barbee, Catherine Burks, and many others, who pulled into Montgomery, AL on a bus May 20, 1961.
He volunteered to step off first.
The mob was waiting with baseball bats, chains, and clubs. They beat him until three of his vertebrae cracked, his nose broke, and every tooth in his head was fractured. They beat him unconscious on the pavement. A Black stranger in coveralls walked up and said, “Stop beating that kid. If you want to beat someone, beat me.” And they did. He saved Zwerg’s life.
White ambulances refused to take him. He lay in the street for over an hour. That is the moment I painted. Bloodied suit. Head bowed.
At Martin Luther King Jr.’s urging, Zwerg later went to seminary and was ordained in the United Church of Christ.
Rev. Zwerg is now 86 and lives in Tucson, Arizona. His courage and conviction, alongside that of countless others, helped save this nation. These are the people I celebrate as we near our 250th anniversary as a nation.