Keyword: grey

  • One of One

    “One of One” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!

    When I was in art school in the late nineties, the goth look was in. A significant segment of art kids wore all-black clothing, Doc Martens boots, and fingernails painted with dark colors. I found it fascinating to observe that the ones intent on bucking the system, sticking it to the man, and expressing their individuality all looked…exactly the same.

    It’s scary to stand out.

    We learn this at a young age, when simply being our weird, unique selves can lead to us being shamed and ostracised at recess, on the school bus, or even across the dinner table by a sibling or parent.

    And so, much of life is a careful effort to blend in.

    Just look at the cars we drive, most of which are either black, white, or some combination of the two.

    Or how we take fashion cues from tastemakers and trendsetters because getting caught wearing something out of style is akin to death.

    We must be careful to curate what we say in public for fear of being cancelled.

    In the case of my art school companions, we even blend together in our rebellion.

    Now, some would explain this as an evolutionary feature, not a bug. There’s safety in numbers, after all. We’ve learned to blend in because there’s danger in straying too far from the herd.

    The thing is, we’re not here to sink to our base animal instincts. We were created for a higher purpose. We were made for greatness.

    We are born originals. The problem, as St. Carlo Acutis observed, is that most of us die as photocopies.

    As an artist, I sell prints of my work. Some of them are timed releases, some are limited editions, and some are open editions (available all the time). 

    I sell a lot of them, but they’re all really just fancy photocopies. 

    And none are worth as much as the original. A print sells for less than a hundred dollars. The original can sell for thousands.

    Ask anyone who has purchased one of my original paintings, where you can see the texture of the canvas, feel the brushstrokes with your fingers, and observe the luminosity that emanates from dozens of thin layers of oil paint, and they’ll confirm: Nothing beats an original.

    Sadly, too often we settle for being photocopies.

    It’s been said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

    Maybe if someone else is imitating us. 

    But if it is we who are doing the imitating, then imitation is the sincerest form of boring.

    It is good to learn from those who came before us. It’s possible to find a measure of success by imitating someone else. 

    But the best you’ll ever be is a second-rate version of them.

    This is not a call to stand out for the sake of standing out, or to pretend to be something you’re not. It’s about having the courage to be more of who you are. It’s a reminder that safety should not be our highest virtue. 

    You are free to opt for the safe path. Most people do.

    But you will not be able to escape the gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, the quiet desperation, the ever-present sense in your soul that there’s more to life, and this ain’t it.

    The reason I made the hero in this painting red was because of the lesson I learned from red shoes. After years of wearing safe, plain, predictable shoes, I started pining for red ones. The people I saw wearing red shoes always seemed to be so brave and adventurous, somehow getting more out of life. I wanted that, but I was afraid. I was afraid of standing out too much, but mostly I was afraid that I’d be found out as a fraud.

    Adultitis tried convincing me that I wasn’t one of those “red shoe people.” I wasn’t fun enough, brave enough, or free enough. 

    Eventually, I stood up to Adultitis and got the red shoes. The fears ended up being empty threats. I’ve worn red shoes on stage for every speaking engagement for about two decades now. I love ’em. They make me feel more fun, confident, and free, like a guy who decided it didn’t matter what other people think. 

    Of course, red shoes are not the secret to defeating Adultitis.

    Being brave is.

    What are your red shoes? There is probably something in your life you’ve always (but probably secretly) wanted to own, do, or be, that you’ve talked yourself out of. Maybe Adultitis sold you on the idea that you’re just not “that type of person” and it would be safer to blend in.

    But maybe you actually are that type of person.

    Maybe the fear is a smokescreen keeping you from becoming all God created you to be.

    Maybe twenty seconds of embarrassing bravery will open the door to a new level of confidence and unimaginable opportunities.

    Maybe your example of standing out from the herd will be the spark that lights the way forward for someone else, giving them courage to be brave, too.

    “To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

    —E.E. Cummings

    Is any of this safe? Hell no. Of course not.

    But it’s the only way to feel alive.
  • Hallelujah Chorus

    “Hallelujah Chorus” by Jason Kotecki. 24x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    What makes life worth living?

    When we look back on a given year, it’s easy to identify the massive oak trees and tall pines that stand as signposts: the weddings and the funerals, the epic vacations, and the major accomplishments. 

    But we often overlook the small blessings – the birds within the trees, if you will.

    Our minds can only hold so much information, and in my experience, our hard drive space seems to dwindle with each passing year. The brain prioritizes the stuff it determines is important, discarding the rest. Those giant oaks and majestic pines take precedence.

    I’ve been rescuing things from the discard pile through a simple practice that makes it easier to spot those aforementioned birds.

    Once a day, I write down one happy moment from the day before. That’s it. One moment. One line. No paragraph or story or context. Most aren’t even full sentences. It’s like a verbal Polaroid, a snapshot in time that describes a simple moment of happiness. 

    But in the same way that a picture is worth a thousand words, that simple snapshot composed of a handful of words contains within it a treasure trove of details, emotions, and story.

    I do this in a Bullet Journal, with each Happy Moment taking up no more than one line on a page. One could adapt it by writing each Happy Moment on a Post-It note and dropping it into a jar with the intent of reading them when you need a pick-me-up.

    The practice takes me less than thirty seconds a day. The payoff comes at the end of the month or the year, when I re-read them all. 

    Kim and I recently spent time reviewing the previous year. The publication of Wonderhunt stood out, as did our Escape Adulthood Summit in Utah and family trips to Key West and Washington, D.C. But my favorite part was reading all 365 of my Happy Moments for the year.

    Here are a few highlights:

    Playing catch with Ben amidst the kites at Leland Park.
    The scallop dish with leeks and apple risotto at the Black Pig.
    Ginny rolling a strike on frame 10 with no bumpers.
    Staff dinner at the supper club.
    Seeing the walls finally up in the studio.
    Watching Lucy ride Chester with confidence.
    Family time on the front porch, eating push-ups.

    As you can see, none of these rise to the level of “major milestone.” Frankly, they’d probably be forgotten had I not taken the time to write them down at the time.

    But these happy moments become souvenirs of a wonderful journey. Perhaps even more than the achievements and milestones, they give me a feeling of aliveness and a sense that my year was spent well. They are reminders of what makes life worth living, and that I have been blessed in myriad ways, despite the defeats and sorrows that also populated the previous year.

    It’s easy to overlook the small songbirds hidden in the forest of our lives. But when we invest a few seconds to jot down one happy moment a day, reading them at the end of the month or year is magical. It’s like experiencing a sublime symphony, with each note harmoniously contributing its voice to a melody that slowly builds to a soaring crescendo of gratitude.

    It becomes a hallelujah chorus, exulting in the glorious gift of being alive.
  • Proof of Life

    “Proof of Life” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Every so often in my life, things are going along swimmingly. I know where I’m going, the path is clear, progress is being made. Everything makes sense, and the future is bright. I like it when life is like that.

    But then, seemingly overnight, everything goes dry. Sand has obscured my path, and I feel like I’m in a barren wasteland, uncertain of which direction to head. I wonder if all the progress and clarity I’d experienced was merely a mirage, because suddenly all signs of life are absent.

    I am stranded in the desert, and all hope is drying up.

    Perhaps you’ve felt this way recently. Maybe you feel this way now.

    Growing up in the Midwest, I didn’t have a lot of experience with deserts. Acres and acres of cornfields, yes; barren expanses of desert, no. To me, deserts were hot, sandy stretches of nothing, save for an occasional cactus and those ominous cattle skulls. Of course, they can be those things. Officially, a desert is a dry, desolate, and barren area of land. It often looks dead, void of life and hope.

    But that’s only if you’re not looking closely enough.

    Deserts are harsh, but not lifeless. I took the picture that inspired this painting whilst exploring the Saguaro National Park a few years ago. It was spectacular and unlike anything I ever experienced growing up in Illinois. The signs of life aren’t as obvious as in a jungle or forest, but they are there, just hidden.

    I can’t help but draw some parallels to my roots in the agricultural heartland. Consider planting: After you cover a seed with soil, it is the moment you see its first green shoot emerge from the earth, the first time growth happens since you buried it? Of course not. It was always in the process of transforming; it just wasn’t immediately visible. When you see rows and rows of tall sweet corn or endless fields of amber waves of grain, it’s easy to forget that in the springtime, those acres of soil seemed barren and lifeless even though they’d already been planted.

    Similarly, it can take several months to visually notice the effect of pregnancy. But cells began multiplying and growing rapidly from the first moment of conception.

    In deserts, life is always on the move. We just aren’t always able to see its progress.

    When we feel stranded in the desert, we need to remind ourselves that all is not lost. It’s hard to be patient and stay hopeful when all evidence seems to suggest otherwise. Please know that when you find yourself in the desert, you are not deserted. God is always working, even when He seems silent or absent. 

    It’s hard to believe a plant so hostile and forbidding could produce a bloom so magnificent.

    Hang in there. Good things are happening, right this moment, and will spring forth in time.

    Keep a sharp eye out for proof of life.