Dave is one of the few artists out there who has helped me to realize that I’m not alone in more than one way. I’m not the only one who has a passion for multiple forms of creative expression. I’m not the only one who struggles through this curvy path of choosing to live the most creative life possible. I’m not the only one making it all up as I go along, taking the risks and rewards one day at a time. I used to be really afraid of change… who am I kidding, it still terrifies the fuck out of me… but…

 

 

[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit rebekahnemethy.com/artink13 to check it out.

 

Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]

 

 

Links from the Show at a Glance:

 

Artist: Dave Conrey

Title of Art: Infinite Possibility

Artist’s Website: daveconrey.com

Instagram: @daveconrey

Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs

 

Email Bek at [email protected] for any feedback

 

GET ALL OF MY ART FOR $1 RIGHT NOW ON PATREON! For real, but it’s only open to the 1st 100 people who sign up, so do it now, before it’s too late.

 

 

Art Ink Podcast Transcript:

 

[Intro:]

 

Hello my friends, welcome back to one of my favorite places to be, digging into the creative zone that is this podcast. Back when I was in high school I always thought I’d be a writer, it was the thing that all of my teachers, family, and even many of my friends, expected me to be. I wrote a little bit of fiction back then, but at this point, I’m sure I’ve written more fiction for Art Ink than I did throughout all of high school and college.

 

I have to admit that these most recent experiences are so much more satisfying than any fiction writing I did back then. Maybe it was because that back then I still believed in the need to have gatekeepers validate my work, and possibly it was also the fact that I wasn’t equipped with the knowledge I have now about how to push through the excuses many of us make about why we don’t create the work we feel compelled to do, but I also know that reading the words aloud does something to manifest these stories in way that just feels more complete. Which is really interesting because a few years ago speaking into a microphone seemed scarier than skydiving without a parachute… and now… now it might be the thing that most motivates me to write; so I can make the words come alive.

 

This is one of the stranger stories I’ve written, and I think that’s why I love it so much. It has many layers to it, and I’ll discuss some of that at the end of this episode, but first, I’m sure you’re dying to know whose artwork is gracing the cover of today’s show.

 

Dave Conrey is a well-rounded artist I’ve been following for many years. He’s also a designer, a writer, a fellow podcaster, and an advocate for artists. Before I even had the vagina to call myself an artist he was one of the voices in my head, I binged on all of his podcast episodes, read all of his books, and I soaked it all up like a parched, shrunken sponge.

 

Dave is one of the few artists out there who has helped me to realize that I’m not alone in more than one way. I’m not the only one who has a passion for multiple forms of creative expression. I’m not the only one who struggles through this curvy path of choosing to live the most creative life possible. I’m not the only one making it all up as I go along, taking the risks and rewards one day at a time.

 

I used to be really afraid of change… who am I kidding,

it still terrifies the fuck out of me… but it also leads to some of the most fun and fulfilling moments of my life. Things that, many times, are totally unexpected and couldn’t have happened any other way.

 

I’ve watched Dave’s evolution with awe. Back when I first started listening to him, he wasn’t making any visual art at all, at least not publicly. I mean, he was creating plenty of content, which is still art in my book, but I’m talking about watching Dave’s Instagram erupt with design and mixed media art. His work is edgy and avant garde. I’m totally not an art critic and, in all honesty, I’m not sure I used that term right… it actually sounds a bit pretentious… and whatever the opposite of pretentious is… that is what Dave’s art is to me. It’s messy, but in the most visually appealing way possible. It’s a bit grungy. I love it!

 

So let’s get into the beautiful mess that is the piece of art that prompted today’s story… shall we?

 

 

[Art Description:]

 

There’s so much to this mixed media piece that I have to stress that you take a look at it yourself whenever you can. If you can’t see the cover art in your podcast app then check the episode description for the link.

 

One of my favorite things about abstract art is how perspective can change so much about what it becomes to each individual viewer. What I see may not be what you see. That’s also a disclaimer.

 

In the middle of this painting is a deep sapphire blue wave, at the very center the blue is more muted, and this is where the stacked words “INFINITE POSSIBILITY” stem from, stretching across the right center of the piece. Below the words the blue deepens and blends into a couple of thick black strokes, with thin streaks of yellow, that swoop down and to the left. Slashing across the top of the blue black wave an orange streak underlines part of the word, “POSSIBILITY,” and curves sharply down to the right corner. Bits of black peek through the orange, it’s almost like a creature of some sort is hiding behind it, gripping it with a single monstrous hand. A pink and black animal of some sort, a made up one for sure, because I can’t name it, rides atop the orange stroke beneath “BILITY.”

 

So heading clockwise, from the bottom right corner, we’re back in those black strokes that led down from the blue center and then end in two circularly stroked patches of pink. The top-most pink paint looks like half of a record, brush streaks thin the paint in the center of the stroke revealing the blue and black beneath. To the bottom left of the pink half record is a larger pink section shaped like a squished half moon, and inside that squat moon is a black silhouette, it could be the reflection of a surfer or maybe a dancer.

 

Still heading around the clock, skipping over a large unpainted area of white at 7 o’clock, we land on the bottom of a backwards C of orange paint that stretches from 8 o’clock to 9. Jagged, blocky veins of black paint cover much of the orange and lead both down to the pink and back up to a bold red spray-painted circle dripping blood like a bullet wound. A fine mist of red speckles the pale blue and pink below the red wound and also spots the orange C and the white space running down the left side of the art.

 

At 9 o’clock, just to the left of the red, orange, and black is another jagged black line, thicker than the veiny lines below, that leads up and curves to 11 o’clock where it ends at an angry looking black eye. Orange fills the space beneath half of this eye, and to the left a thick downward stroke of orange fills the top corner.

 

Remember we’ve been circling around this deep blue center area, and so at 12 o’clock, just above where the sapphire blue comes to a point and to the right of the eye, yellow and green paint fill a space that, along with the eye, looks like a short, pointy elephant trunk that stretches diagonally across the page. The forehead area of the elephant’s face is muted blue and white at the top center.

 

Following the same slightly diagonally line created in yellow and green, 3 squares of pink are situated from forehead to center trunk. A thick pink stroke lies parallel along the rest of the trunk downward to the word “INFINITE.” Black lines edge some of the pink squares and are scribbled through the thicker stroke. To the right of the pink paint, more black lines, strokes, and dots lead down to the words. They remind me of dominos.

 

Dave’s message to the artist is worth quoting. Along with his Instagram post of Infinite Possibility he wrote: “If you knew you could not fail, what would you go after? What dream would you chase down? At the crossroads of purpose and passion exists infinite possibility. Now, in order to realize that infinite possibility, you have to drive your ass down to the corner of hard work and due diligence.”

 

I couldn’t agree more with Dave’s words. Well most of it… I don’t really think it’s supposed to be hard… we just believe it’s supposed to be, so it is.

 

I do however believe in Infinite Possibility, and along with those words and some of visuals my perspective pulled from Dave’s creation, another story was born. I call this one, All the Other 9/11s…

 

[Story:]

 

September 11th, 2001 – 12:02 pm

 

Dakota: I woke up late, feeling strangely heavy. Now there’s… this… fascinating presence inside of me. Clear words that aren’t mine; memories, too, vivid ones. I’m just going to let it all out, before it goes away. I don’t have much time.

 

In all 123,321 universions I’ve experienced, this is the first time I’ve felt the urge to write it all down—well, write as much of it as I can, anyway, in the mere 24 hours I have before I’ll leave this body and drop into another one.

 

No, this is not like the exorcist or the body snatchers, I’m not some kind of demon or alien possessing Dakota’s body. I am still Dakota, hence the sudden urge to write, but I am also a different entity entirely. A wandering soul, you might call me. And, today, Dakota has access to all of my memories, and I have access to hers. You could see it as a sort of partnership. I can’t force Dakota to do anything against her will, and honestly, most vessels I drop into don’t even recognize me as more than an odd feeling… which is another reason we are furiously writing this down. I’m thrilled that she can sense me so clearly and honored that she’s so interested in my life and will do my best to answer her questions.

 

Dakota: Who are you? Do you have a name?

 

Hmmm no… I don’t often get the chance to communicate with my vessels, so I guess I’ve never had a need for a name. I take on the name of the vessel I’m traveling in. Today, I am Dakota.

 

Dakota: Why are you here? What’s your mission… ok this is weird because we’re in one mind, so I get it, but I’m having a hard time putting your experience into words.

 

My mission is the same as the human mission, except it is much easier for me, and that is simply… to be.

 

To use a popular movie in this universion to simplify my existence, my life is like Groundhog Day, except I’m in a different body and a new universion every 24 hours. So, as of today, I’ve experienced 123,321 completely unique versions of September 11th, 2001 here on Earth. Infinity is hard for most of us to fathom, but even this many days, which amounts to over 300 years of your linear time, is so much more miniscule than our human mind can perceive. I wish I could share the experience of every day with you, but I don’t have the time to even think it all, and no reader would have the time to read it, so I’ll give you the highlight reel.

 

Dakota: What’s the most memorable universion you can share?

 

Universion 626, for sure.

 

The most beautiful moment I’ve ever experienced was on Miami beach, just after sunset. The waves lapped up onto the beach and sparkled pink as it hit the sand. As we walked along the saturated shoreline, the sand beneath our feet illuminated with every step we took, the neon pink glow spreading over our feet and up our ankles if the water had washed over them recently enough.

 

We’d swum out into the ocean after dark. Drawing messages to each other underwater, the plankton making it look like our fingers were magic wands.

 

After she’d drawn me a heart I grabbed her hand and pulled her to me. In many universions there is a lot of symbolism surrounding the way sparks and fireworks and light, in general, fly when you experience love… but this was the first universion where this manifested literally. Our kiss felt electric, and even with our eyes closed, the pink sparks shone through.

 

We were married for 11 years, but she told me just before I left, that she thought it was the best date we’d ever had.

 

Dakota: Wow, that’s so beautiful. The bioluminescent plankton here are bluish. Are there many variations like that in these alternate realities? The same but off just a bit in color or… anything else?

 

Oh yes, colors can vary greatly… sometimes they don’t exist at all.

 

Dakota: What do you mean? Were you inside of a blind person? That’s what it seems like… what is that? How can we explain that?

 

The memory you’re experiencing is of a universion where humans didn’t see with their eyes but with a sort of extra sensory perception. We are all made of light, Dakota, and the way we perceive of that light here is through color, but it’s possible to experience light in all sorts of ways.

 

Dakota: It’s like you’re… feeling… colors? That’s so weird, I-I can’t explain what you’re showing me.

 

Humans here aren’t built to perceive in this way, writing about it would most likely just confuse your readers.

 

Dakota: Yeah, you’re right. Have you ever told anyone else about your travels? Am I the only one?

 

Only once, in Universion 9,382. I was an 11-year-old girl named Sarah, camping out with my best friend Penny in her backyard.

 

“Aliens or ghosts?” Penny asked, holding up two books. The flashlight she held between her knees pointed straight up, making her look ghoulish: sunken, shadowed eye sockets and glowing red nostrils. The books were nothing but two rectangular silhouettes, but we’d read them enough that I knew their covers by heart. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, with the creepy, drippy black artwork, and Alien Abductions with the typical grey alien with big, black pupilless eyes and a lightbulb-shaped head.

 

“Actually, I have a new story.” I said.

 

“You do?” Penny leaned forward, dropping her hands and placing the books on the tent floor. Only the skin beneath her chin was illuminated and a few statically charged wisps of highlighted hair, as her face plunged into darkness.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” I asked, and the oval shadow of her face bobbed up and down.

 

Dakota: Penny asked me… uh, I mean you if you ever wished you could stay?

 

Yes. I’d asked myself that same question countless times, but I stumbled with the sudden pressure to provide an honest answer. Maybe a few times I’d wanted to have more time, but the truth was that I get to live more presently than my vessels do; most of the people I drop in on have a plethora of problems and worries. Usually they are so wrapped up in their everyday patterns that they rarely notice the unique beauty of each new day, but I can’t avoid the… nowness of it all. I still feel their pain, but because it’s all new to me, I experience it differently. I’d hate to let life become so dull and my body so numb, which I suspect is what would happen if I spent too many days in any one body.

 

But what I finally said to Penny was, “No,” simply because she was still very much present, as most children are in her universion, and she wouldn’t have understood the adult human condition until she experienced it herself.

 

Though, in other 9/11s, there were several universions that appealed to me.

 

Dakota: Any particular one come to mind?

 

Yes. Universion 111,111. It was not that the memory of that September 11th was exciting or anything, it was actually quite a mundane day; a typical Saturday with my father in Central Park playing dominos.

 

It was the society that had developed within this universion that was so much better than most.

 

Can you imagine a unified Earth, Dakota? An entire planet without borders? Without a need for property or money? A place where unconditional love prevails and everything is shared? Without war? Without slavery?

 

Dakota: There’s no slavery in the US anymore.

 

Not of the human variety, well not legally. But billions of animals are enslaved, are they not?...

 

Can you imagine a planet of humans who love and share and support each other? Who live with the Earth rather than off of it. This was one universion I’d like to have stayed in.

 

Dakota: Can you change things? I mean, by communicating with me, by helping me write all this down… we’re changing things here already aren’t we?

 

Do you feel that I am forcing you write this down?

 

Dakota: No, but I feel an urge that couldn’t exist without your being here, without your inspirational knowledge. Are there more of you?

 

Yes and no. That’s a hard question to answer. I’ve never met anyone else like me, but since I travel alone, I wouldn’t know if I had met another observer. And that is the key phrase here. I observe. My vessels have complete free will. I cannot impose my desires on anyone I visit. And only those rare people like you, who are open to communication, ever know I’ve dropped in at all.

 

Dakota: Isn’t it scary not having any control? Has there ever been a universion you wished you could leave immediately?

 

There have been a few. Joining a vessel who is either experiencing or inflicting pain is not pleasant. But even the darkest days have had their slices of beauty.

 

Dakota: The silence is so peaceful, the space in between the drip, drip, drip. I look up from the pool of rippling red, where another drop of red is swelling at the tip of a transparently gray toe.

 

Drip.

 

Silence.

 

Drip.

 

Silence.

 

I follow the thin red line upwards. As my gaze moves up the pale leg, my eyes move faster, trying to take in the whole scene so as not to stare too long at any one gruesome detail.

 

A white hospital-gown-looking garment stained dark red at the center, splattering outwards, the speckles growing finer the further they reach.

 

Though her face is concealed by her drooping head, I know what it looks like.

 

Flashback: Blue, darting, terrified eyes.

 

Flashback: Red, full quivering lips. They contract into a chapped, wrinkled O. “No, no, no, no,” they plead.

 

Flashback: A hand… my hand? No, but it’s coming from my body, holds the girl’s head up by a fistful of her blonde hair, the other pushes a pistol to her gut.

 

Dakota: You killed her!

 

Yes.

 

Dakota: Wasn’t there any way you could stop it?

 

No.

 

Dakota: Do you choose the people you drop in on? Why would you want to feel what it’s like to-to murder someone?

 

Because it’s part of the human experience.

 

Dakota: Well it wasn’t part of my human experience… until you came along. I don’t know if I can handle any more memories like that.

 

Well it’s nearly time for me to move on anyway. Do you have any other questions?

 

Dakota: Yeah, what’s with the numbers I keep seeing? All those 1s…

 

I dropped in on a mathematician once. They were such a nerd for numbers. One of their favorite equations was 111 x 1,111 = 123,321, which, as I told you when I first arrived, is the number of days I’ve experienced here on Earth. 1… 2… 3… 3… 2… 1.

 

Dakota (September 12th, 2001):

 

I fell asleep quite suddenly… I don’t even remember going to bed. This all seems so much like a dream. But unless I was sleep writing yesterday, it wasn’t.

 

I slept all morning, and though I have a deadline for a book that’s due later this week, I just have to get this out while it’s fresh.

 

The nameless entity that weighed me down is now gone. I feel empty. It wasn’t the kind of weight that stress or grief dumps on you, though, it was an inspiring kind of weight. The weight of hundreds of years of memories in places that seem… simultaneously right next door and light years and light years away.

 

And if I didn’t have the pages from yesterday, I’d think it was all a dream. It still sort of feels like it may have been.

 

Their memories were so vivid to me… the way I wrote it for you is to simplify it… to make it understandable to you. But we weren’t having a conversation that was all in my head… it was all instant: fully formed sentences, stories, flashes of memories that I had to decipher.

 

Ugh, hold on, the phone’s ringing… it’s my editor, I have to take it. Hi Don, yeah, I’m working on it. New York?… what today? No, I still have too much to do… yeah I know it would be a great, opp-… ok, fine… when do I have to be there?

 

Sorry, I’ll have to cut this short… I have a last minute interview in the city today at CNN, apparently it’s a slow news day and I may not get another shot at this. Obviously my experience yesterday has me thinking irrationally if Don’s perception of reality is accurate… though I’m not sure if anyone’s perception of reality is accurate anymore.]

 

Oh my god… I thought I remembered everything. I thought—I thought I wrote every word consciously… but I just reread the entire text and at the end, I—I don’t remember writing this last sentence:

 

“They are all you.”

 

 

[Conclusion:]

 

Dave Conrey, thank you for sharing your work with us today. I loved exploring this piece and I hope that all of you listening enjoyed the adventure it took me on too. If you want to find out more about Dave you can follow him on Instagram @daveconrey. There are links in the shownotes to that, Dave’s website, which is simply daveconrey.com, and a link to check out the cover art that sparked today’s story if you still haven’t download Podcast Addict, which is the best podcasting app out there to get the full experience of Art Ink.

 

So usually this is where I say goodbye to you, but I’m curious… what did you think of that? What if this was the way reality actually worked? Feel free to email me any thoughts.

 

You remember how I told you there were more layers to this story… well there is actually a lot of personal symbolism woven in there, but the biggest thing for me was that this entire story took place on 9/11.

 

Like anyone residing inside the US, and I’m sure many of you in other countries too, I remember exactly where I was when the horrible news started to spread. I was about an hour north of NYC. It was my junior year in a brand new high school, I knew nobody around me, I didn’t have a cell phone, I worried that my Dad, who was a travelling repairman, might be in the city, but I had no way of knowing. Several of the kids in my English class were hysterically crying. Nobody was working. There was talk of sending us all home, but that didn’t happen and it made me more mad, more afraid. I’ve never really trusted public authorities to take care of me… I wanted out. But I sat there in silence and terror until I could go home and discover that my Dad was safe.

 

I remember the days, weeks, and months after that day as a blur of American flags, bumper stickers, and window decals. Giant flags flapping over the entire length of pickup truck beds. The ubiquitous rear window flags that appeared on at least half of all the cars I saw on the road. Then the words I saw over and over and over again on my commutes: Never Forget 9/11.

 

I almost titled this story “Forgetting 9/11,” but I figured that without a proper explanation that’d probably turn a lot of people off. But it was very intentional that I refrained from writing about 9/11 as we know it. Why?

 

Well, I didn’t mention this back before I left for my Creative Sandbox Retreat, but I almost didn’t go because the day I had to fly from NYC to San Jose happened to fall on 9/11. It gave me mild anxiety all year long. But I told myself I was being ridiculous. The day I flew out I tried to see the bright side… I was through security in under 5 minutes. No one was in line in front of me; apparently I wasn’t the only one who was afraid of flying on the infamous day.

 

When I made it to the retreat center unscathed and I told Melissa that I almost decided not to come because of my silly superstition, she totally understood. But later, during our opening circle Melissa said something that turned this whole thing around for me. And unfortunately I can’t even say I’m paraphrasing because although I can remember her words bringing tears to my eyes, I can’t remember what she said; well that’s proof that that expression is true: people won’t always remember what you say or do, but they will always remember how you make them feel.

 

I know that she repeated my fears to the group and then she said that she was glad that I decided to come anyway. Basically, Melissa pointed out to me that I was reshaping 9/11, that I was no longer living in its shadow, that I was turning it into something good, instead.

 

For many months now I’ve been seeing repetitive 1s, I always happen to look at the clock at 11:11 and 1:11, but after I started drafting the idea for this story and I decided to set the story on 9/11, I started seeing 9:11 on clocks almost daily, too. I took that as a personal sign to keep on writing this story.

 

So I mean no disrespect when I say that I want to forget 9/11. I don’t mean that we should forget the loved ones who were lost. But I do mean that we shouldn’t let the shadow of that one day darken all of the 9/11s that are to come.

 

And that goes for any personal shadows you might have that you’re holding onto. There is one person in my family who grieves the loss of someone who’s been dead for nearly 50 years. Every year when the calendar page turns to reveal their loved one’s death date, they mourn like the person died yesterday. They plan to have a horrible day and they do.

 

I dunno, maybe I’m selfish, but I’d rather celebrate that I’m still lucky enough to be alive than ruin another precious day I have on Earth. I mean, I’m not always a fucking ray of sunshine, don’t get me wrong, I feel painful things, I still need to purge my anger and sadness and fear with a good cry every once in awhile. But then I do my very best to let it go. It takes practice and I’m not perfect at it. But I think, for me, it’s time to let 9/11 go.

 

Your potential is limitless, not just as an artist, but as a human being. Once you realize that the possibilities really are infinite, then you have the power to choose which possibility you want to live. Own it my friend. Own it.

 

PS – There’s a crazy special offer going on on Patreon right now. If you support me for just $1 per month you’ll get access to my Patron-only Art Library (high res downloads of all the fine art I’ve created over the past decade 300+ images!!!). You’ll also have a character in an upcoming episode of Art Ink named after you!

 

All Patrons also get access to any content I put out 2 days before anyone else as well as a copy of my exclusive audiobook (which is pretty much Art Ink before it was Art Ink, so it’s like getting 100 mini bonus episodes!).

 

Offer ends 12/21/19 or after the 1st 100 people sign up. Become a Patron on Patreon here to get instant access to all of these goodies.