(Warning: this story contains strong themes and may be disturbing to some.)
Ultimately, I wasn’t born into art or riches. That much I can tell you. I was born into struggle, poverty and hardship. Growing up, every corner of my life was always about something sport related or horse related not really my forte being the middle child. Younger years of school I struggled with maths and English classes and was looked down upon for being left-handed. My confidence seemed to always be shattered.
Highschool, as for anyone was a big wakeup call. Classes failed again and again until something happened; One day in maths class I just started to sketch a girl I had a crush on across the room, finally an outlet was made, it felt unreal. Starting with only a cheap blue pen I wanted more gradients, so I moved to my first graphite set.
Adolescent and facing puberty, sketching was a very small but true part of my life back then. Once a week I would sketch whatever came into my mind. Mr. Whittiker my first art teacher was amazing, he taught me techniques and let me sketch on my own terms it was the first time I felt important. My life had meaning.
Funny how life tends to take a quick turn when you least expect it. Taking an apprenticeship in carpentry nearly destroyed my creative side completely. Being only 15 years old I learned some hard lessons very quickly. But in secret I still would draw in my spare time. I was in my Manga/Anime phase and loved coloured texters with fine liners. Smoking and drinking heavily came with the life I lived, and I was so addicted.
Dim hallways echoing with arguments in my childhood home, nights colder than they should’ve been, and dreams that felt too far to touch. People said kids like me didn’t make it out. And somehow, I agreed. Years on, smoking marijuana and drinking whiskey made me a mess. All I could do was think about taking my own life. Suicide seemed so bliss compared to having an ex- fiancé, horrible boss and terrible friends.
Years of rough jobs and I couldn’t find a way out, maybe I’d given up, I hadn’t thought about nor practiced art in forever. Then, again something happened I heard on the radio an open day at university. After 3 years I had a degree in visual communication and was painting in oil every week. Another outlet was created and again it was unreal.
I found art by suffering, painting with cheap brushes, sketching emotions I couldn't say out loud. It became my therapy, my rebellion, my only honest language. Each canvas was a confession. When no one listened, my art spoke for me, I never wanted to lose my art mojo again. I knew it could kill me. And I wanted to live.
Happy endings do come true but still have hard roads ahead. Nowadays I am part of two prestigious art societies. I don’t do cigarettes, alcohol, drugs or any bad stuff and it feels amazing. I paint regularly in different mediums with likeminded friends who amaze me. I hope one day you find an outlet where you can love life even more.
The road hasn’t been smooth. Nights working on my own design business while working a fulltime job and still being broke. days spent hustling commissions, and moments I questioned everything. I’ve lost friends, missed chances, and stared down rejection more times than I can count. But every “no” sharpened my hunger. Every setback became a lesson in disguise. Now I have launched APEX ART.
Now, people are starting to notice. Not the pain behind the pieces but the fire. The truth. The beauty built from brokenness. My name is Chris and I’m proud to be an artist.
I’m not famous. Not yet. But I’m here. And I’m coming. Every canvas, every design, every drop of sweat is a reminder: I made it this far. And I’m not done painting this story. This was very hard to publish because it’s personal and scary. Thanks, if you took the time to read this far, I hope you reach for your dreams and practice art as much as possible.
‘Life’s short, so let’s paint.’