Waffle: Blackout Guitar Painting by Tim Graves

Tim Graves needs your help, and is selling a painting that is very dear to him to raise money to help with getting back on his feet.

This is a Waffle for the painting entitled "Blackout Guitar".  It is 30" x 49" x 2-3/8". These dimensions create a "Golden Triangle " (aka Sublime Triangle) , which mathematically creates logarithmic spirals.

The waffle will be held at 6pm Friday February 22, 2019, and will be broadcast on Facebook Live, technology willing. 

We are asking for donations in increments of $10 that will equal "1 Waffle Ticket". If you donate $20, you would get 2 tickets. If you donate $50, 5 tickets, and so on.

Each ticket will be your name written on a uniform piece of paper, and the winning ticket will be drawn at the specified time. The winner of the painting shall have the option of picking up the painting in Fort Collins, CO, or to have it shipped.

The cost of shipping to the farthest corner of the USA is at least $350, and will vary greatly depending on distance from Fort Collins. Please remember that part of this fundraising is for this expense.  If you are able to have it shipped at your own expense, it will increase the donation to Tim.

Please also note that GoFundMe will be taking 2.9% of the proceeds as an expense as well. Please donate generously to help cover these expenses. The rest of us on the team making this happen are volunteering our time.

WHY IS IT CALLED "BLACKOUT GUITAR"?

Tim called me last week and told me he was writing letters. A letter to me, a letter to all of his friends. It was quite a list. He decided that one of the things holding himself back from killing himself was the letter-writing. The good-bye letter you write to those you care for, so they can have a personal explanation for the void that will remain for the rest of their lives. Which, of course, must be an act of kindness. And, not at all about having the last word.

We discussed this.

I asked if he had been drinking. Just a little. Starting to feel nearly detoxed from five or six days before. Still had not slept in 4 days. 

We've been down this road before. It was the first week of January in 2011 when I got a call at noon on a Monday from Tim. He needed the number for unemployment. I was happy to look it up for him . . . in Illinois. I asked what was really up, and he told me, in a direct way that he never had before, that he had decided had to end his life. He was on Day 4. And, his method was to drink a handle of vodka, straight, with no food, and pass out hoping not to wake up. Problem was, he kept waking up.

I stayed on the phone with him for about 9-10 hours straight that day. My wife and I then spent some time on the phone and internet trying to figure out his location, as had had moved, again, and we didn't know his new address. Tim and I's best friend, Butch, found him and took him in. 48 hours later, we had him on a flight to Colorado. I remember the first night, and I gave a middle-of-the-night 3-hour pleading. Could have come across as a speech. Maybe preach. Maybe even a testimony. I put it all on the line, and made my case for why he should continue to live. 

By Sunday, we had decided, together, that he wasn't going back to Illinois. That this was a new start, and it began in our basement.

But, even that wasn't the first time. We met in 7th grade basketball camp. By Freshman year, Butch and I were on the basketball team, and we had plans to meet Tim after a game at a friend's house to drink Southern Comfort. We called from a pay phone just outside the locker room after the game, and Brian's girlfriend was freaked out - because Tim was talking about killing himself. We talked to him as best we could from the pay phone, even having to have them call the pay phone back because we didn't have enough change - and we needed bus fare. We got him to promise to sit tight till we got there, and we took the CTA as quick as we could. Once we got there, I can say, in hindsight, we did what was effective - we told him everything would be alright. We told him not to worry. We didn't dig for details. And, we poured shots of Southern Comfort. Till, frowns and tears turned to smiles and laughter.

And, for me, it pretty much all went away for 20 years. 

It wasn't until Tim moved in that he opened up with me about what was really going on when we were kids. Tim was always "wild", and after our freshman year, he transferred from the private Lutheran school where we started out to the biggest public school on the north side. But, we still had parties together, and did all sorts of things together. He was fun, and he always knew how to score alcohol and good weed. While we talked about many things deep, we never talked about how his world changed in 1980.

He was the oldest of 4 boys, with parents who liked to party. His Mom loved Pink Floyd, and wanted Tim to see The Wall when it was still an original live show. She had a guitar and wanted Tim to learn how to play. Tim, of course, thought this was a terrible idea and let her know it. 

One day, Tim, at age 12, was assigned to baby sit his 3 younger brothers. Tim, however, thought it would be more fun to go over to his best friend's house and watch PBS and build model airplanes. When they got the call, Tim immediately ran home, about 2 blocks. As fast as he could. By then, the street was blocked off and the fire engines were hooked up and streaming water onto the building. His mother was halfway out of the burning window, screaming. It was the last time he would see her. His brothers all survived. 

His father, of course, blamed him. For not being at home to supervise the younger brothers. The youngest was told, for many years he started the fire. He was 3. Tim, however, was told the truth that his mother passed out with a cigarette on the bed, and set the mattress on fire. It was his fault for not being at home to supervise. And, his burden would be to raise his younger brothers. Under physical threats of beating that weren't just threats. 

There's more. So much more. And, night after night, as Tim recovered from his attempt in 2011, he'd open up to me about all of these things going on right under our noses - and I, for one, never had a clue. You begin to question the kind of friend you are. But, you also learn that some people can bury secrets deeper than you can dig. 

Over the past 8 years, Tim's had good streaks. Some really good streaks. He's made many many friends, and held quite a few jobs. He always makes a good impression, but, then, somehow, there's a trigger, and then a pattern and incident leading to a setback.  The subject of suicide comes up every now and then, but each time, I feel like we go back to 2011, and we go through all the reasons why the world is a better place with Tim in it. And, inevitably, his creativity comes up every single time.

Tim did become a great guitarist. You've probably never heard of him, or seen him play, because, well, things just have never worked out beyond some things here and there. But, if you've ever sat and listened to Tim play, you are immediately struck with the question - and everyone has the same question - Why NOT? 

I think the answer is Time. Because the path of the artist is one that takes time, and time spent earning a living always makes that path a challenge to find and stay upon. If only the money, then the time.

And, this time, Tim decided that he needed to save himself the time of writing his farewell letters by getting them out of the way, in advance. So, when he had his suicidal impulse, he wouldn't be slowed down - which is when he always ends up talking himself out of it. I told him to write the letters, because, apparently, this is all the deep stuff he really feels. But, instead, give them to them now so they can know while they are alive how he really feels. And, to maybe listen to what they have to say, in return.

He seemed pretty much set on his way though. Prep the letters, no early handouts.

I let it go for the first night. Two days later, we stopped by his place to see how things were going. He poured the remaining vodka from his last handle down the drain in front of us. Still hadn't really slept. But, he told us about how he hadn't worked in too long, and a couple construction gigs fell through. A friend had promised to buy large painting on the wall he had painted. He didn't really want to sell it, but he also literally feared being out on the street. So, he was willing to part with this big painting. I knew it was important to him, but he wanted the dignity of having earned it.
 
And, then she just changed her mind. Two days before rent is due. Triggering the recent life-changing bender.

So, we say, maybe we can help sell the painting for you. We took a few pictures and I began to put some thought into it.  It wasn't until a call a week later that I fully realized true depth and meaning of this painting for Tim. I kept trying to think of how to explain why he was selling it without disclosing more than he was comfortable disclosing. And, while there's something about the painting when you are in the room with it. It glows or hovers or something. But, this is hard to express over the Internet. And, there's a sense of urgency.

That's when I recalled all of the lottery-style art items I had seen sold on Facebook for Christmas. People would buy tickets, and there could even be a live drawing at the end. People could buy however many tickets they wanted. And, someone gets, for the price of a lottery ticket, this beautiful painting. Tim, raises money to get back on his feet.

But, after a week, I was still having a creative block. I called Tim, and had to ask him about the painting. I mean, why paint a guitar? Was it about something I knew he loved? The form of a guitar itself, or the symbol of the music he loved? I mean, why paint this huge painting of a guitar? Why?

He had this other canvas and didn't like what he had had painted. So, he painted over it in white. Do-over. Then, he got really really drunk. I mean blind blackout drunk. Passed out. And, then when he woke up, he sat up and there was this painting. He had absolutely no recollection whatsoever of painting it. Yet, he knew it to be his work.

I wasn't expecting this. And, obviously, neither was he. 

But, again, why the guitar? Why does he think the guitar would be what his blackout drunk mind would gravitate towards?

He then told me something I had never been told about the fire his mom died in, back in 1980.
 
There was one thing that survived the fire. His mom's guitar. It was in the closet.

So, Tim, of course, felt the calling to learn how to play guitar. And, of course, his dad smashed it in front of him. His life started to be defined by violent moments. And those of us who thought we were closest may not have known at all. Blissfully, but hopefully not willfully ignorant.

It suddenly made sense to me that, of course, when he would paint with a mind freed by alcohol from the walls, he'd see what was real. And, on his biggest canvas, he chose something important. The guitar that inspired him. To see it, he needed to drink until he was blacked out. This is the Blackout Guitar.

We almost said it out loud together. But, here's the thing: In order to have a name like this have meaning, there would have to be the origin story. And, his origin story gets into some topics that are frequently the triggers for his addictions. But, he was confident that now was the time to stop trying to separate himself from his past. Own it, and realize good he can do with the power of his creative mind knowing what drives his inspiration. So, I was given permission to tell it like it is.

--Andy Mowery, life-long friend.

WHERE WE GO FROM HERE

After writing the above origin story about the painting, Tim and I have had several conversations about life and death. A common question among those who have considered suicide is: What is the point?

In Tim's case, he's struggling with why he's here. Or, more to the point, why he should remain here. He knows that many people love him and truly enjoy being with him. He's gentle, smart, funny, witty, and a whole long list of positive attributes that he knows and acknowledges. But, he still questions what he brings to the table.

While Tim is a painter, he's also a guitarist with talent. And, a damned good writer too. In short, that means he's an artist, and like many artists, the struggle to make ends meet and still have time to create his art threatens his ability to make more art. And, that, in turn, adds to the factors in his depression.

Our hope is that this fundraising effort will be the beginning of Tim finding financial support from others for his art. Success here means Tim has hope of creating more art, and his artistry becomes a bigger part of his ability to support himself financially.

Tim has purchased the domain www.blackoutguitar.com, and plans to use some of the proceeds from this waffle to launch the website so he can write, make audios and videos of his music, and offer his paintings for sale. This is just the beginning.

Thank you all in advance for your support, big or small, and we wish you all luck in the waffle for this beautiful painting.