What you will find below in pictures and in words is the remnants of my EBay auction that took place the last week of March 2010 and concluded on the first day of April, which coincided with the final day applications were accepted for Wieden + Kennedy 12, an experimental school for advertising. This is not Its original form, the auction format itself has been removed from EBay’s server.
This auction is for a piece of paper, and your faith in me.
When I was a little boy, maybe seven or eight, my father held his grandfather’s hunting rifle to the back of my head as my mother looked on in quiet horror. The dance between my father’s bi polar disorder, his finger and the trigger slowly ebbed to him letting me see nine. My back was turned, probably drawing. My mother told me of the event many years later. I loved drawing from an early age, tombstones mostly, with the names of family members and friends on them.
At the age of twelve I was taken from my parent’s home and placed in the custody of the State of New York and sent to Berkshire Industrial Farm for Youth. I lived there for the next three years. Drawing every day was all I had. It’s pretty much all I remember doing. That, and smoking the staff’s cigarette butts and having pubescent crushes on the librarians who taught me to love books.
In it’s seventh year, W+K 12 asked applicants to send them an envelope filled with an 8.5” x 11” sheet of white paper. Instructions stated that the applicants should take this sheet of paper and “do whatever you want to it”. You don’t have to ask me twice to do whatever I want. A clean sheet, a blank canvas, a glowing screen- being able to create from the void has always been there for me. The need pulls me out of sleep and then pours itself across my desk like a spilt glass of ink. Then comes the mess. And even in that, even in the times of black pools of mistakes, that constant remains- the opportunity to make something from nothing. A fresh start, to fuck up all over again and call it art.
Now, tonight, sitting naked on my couch with a piece of paper in my hands, 8 by 11, I still know anything’s possible. Let me show you.