The reality of the local job market hit me at a job fair I went to in Kernersville a few years ago. I had a doctor's appointment that morning, and showed up with my paper resume' at a large church about 10:00 am. As I walked in, I saw the line of job seekers coming out of the multi-purpose room and heading down a hallway. A long hallway. I walked past the people also in line for the 100 jobs at a local plant. The hallway turned, the line continued... and continued... and continued. None of the people looked happy. I was half expecting to see a "Welcome to Virginia" sign before I got to the end of the line. By the time I got there, I had walked past about 2,500 people. My resume' had gaps in employment (when I was homeless) and several years as a taxi driver in California, where I worked 70-100 hours a week, and was also homeless. I lived in my taxi while as that industry collapsed due to new technology.
While most people in the line talked about the lottery-esque chance at getting one of the jobs, the Californian in me thought, "Man, I should open up a snack bar next to this line, these people need snacks...and some caffeine." Years of being around the highly entrepreneurial people in the BMX and skateboard industries gave me a different perspective. I had seen many, many people start their own businesses, and wind up making a good living. Several are now millionaires. I knew a "real job" wasn't the only answer. Like 2,400 people in that line that day, I didn't get a job. In fact, in applying for about 150 jobs over a couple years in this area, I only got one call back, and got turned down for that fast food job when the manager saw I was fat, over 50, and a former taxi driver. I had never experienced anything like that. Up until age 28, I got hired at every single job I ever applied for. Those ranged from working at a shooting range in Idaho to being a proofreader at national magazines, to working on the stage crew of the American Gladiators TV show. I was used to getting rejected by women, but not for jobs.
I was living with my mom, in Kernersville, after my dad's death in 2012, and things were tense and money was tight. Finally, in late 2015, I decided to step up my "art game," since my weird drawings with Sharpie markers were the only thing that made me any money at all. I spent a couple of hours on the computer, looking at all kinds of art, and asking myself a simple question, "What could I draw that I would want on MY wall?" I finally found a picture of Bruce Lee, my first childhood hero, and drew it. I liked it. I taped it up on my bedroom wall. And I started asking friends online if I could draw something for them.
It started slow, and I sold the drawings really cheap, usually only getting $1 to $2 an hour for the time I spent working on them. But I was able to draw fairly consistently, and I was able to greatly increase my skills. I already had a unique style of drawing with Sharpie markers, something I'd been doing since actually living in an indie art gallery (while driving the owner's taxi on the weekends) in 2005-2006. I call my technique "scribble style." To get each final color, I scribble several layers of colors, 3 to 8 in all, over each other. When I got around to looking for people doing the same thing online, I found there weren't any. My scribble style was unique, apparently in the whole world. That surprised me, because there are a lot of people, artist Jessie Armand in particular, who do really cool things with Sharpies. But no one does the scribble thing I do.
So I kept plugging away at it, and fighting with my mom because we never got along well to start with, and the financial pressure just kept things tense. Even though she had a car I used, I was never able to make it here to the First Friday Gallery Hop in Winston-Salem to meet other artists and gallery owners.
At the end of May last year, I finally just packed up my stuff, stored most of it in a friend's closet, and came to Winston-Salem with about $15 in my pocket. I already knew the city well, I worked as a taxi driver here in 2011-2012, until my dad's stroke and eventual death. It wasn't like I was wishing on some long shot of being a world famous artist or something. By that point, I knew I had the skills and unique style to become a working artist, and eventually make a living with my Sharpie art... if I could survive until that happened.
Homelessness is no joke. There was a homeless man who was savagely beaten and later died here last year. I knew him by sight, though I never talked to him. Bad things happen on the streets, I'd been homeless enough before to know that well. But coming here to turn my art and writing into a business was a leap of faith. I knew intuitively that it was time to go for it, all or nothing.
I built a lean-to in a patch of woods I'd hiked in years before. I used to go there to get some exercise when driving the taxi. After three days with little sleep and lots of bug bites, I ran into a guy who guessed my situation, talked to me a while, and then offered me an old tent he had in his trunk. I can't tell you how great that first night in the tent felt. It made my existence possible as I spent my days drawing in a library or fast food joint. The tent turned out to be huge, but didn't have a rain fly, so I got wet often during the summer thunderstorms. I kept working away on my drawings, promoting them online, and talking to local people to look for ways to sell them. I found little ways to make money to scrape by, and struggled day by day just to survive. Some days a single McChicken sandwich at McDonald's served as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Usually I could manage two cheap sandwiches and drinks there a day.
Many people asked why I didn't go to the homeless shelters to stay. I stayed in them a few times years before, and learned they are not geared to helping people get back to work. They're geared towards getting people into programs, usually for mental health or addiction reasons, and then getting those people to scam Social Security Disability so taxpayers have to pay their way for the rest of their lives. There are a few people who get Disability legitimately, but they seem to be far outnumbered by lazy scammers. I just wasn't down with that. Plus, I had my niece's old laptop, which I used to promote my art and to blog, and laptops won't last long in any shelter. Either it would get stolen, destroyed by some jealous goofball, or I'd get jacked for it while walking around during the day.
But the main reason was, when you stay in a shelter you have to be inside that building by about 7 pm every night. There's a reason for that, it keeps guys out of a lot of trouble. I knew my future depended on meeting people in the art scene here, centered mainly on Trade Street. Those people aren't around during the days. I learned long ago that getting around the people making cool stuff happen is the key to success in anything. In the shelters, the majority of guys spend their time arguing, playing spades, or stealing socks. Those aren't the people who could help my new career happen. So I chose the woods.
That, of course, has its own set of issues. The biggest thing most people don't understand about homelessness is that, the minute you become homeless, going to the bathroom and sleeping become illegal. You can literally get arrested for going to the bathroom in a business if you don't buy something, or sleeping anywhere. Last fall I managed to get arrested, for the first time in my 51 year life, for buying donuts. Technically, the charges were trespassing and resisting arrest. But I literally got arrested for walking into a store (that I had been told to leave, and did leave, earlier)and buying a pack of donuts. I jumped when the officer grabbed me from behind, which qualifies as "resisting" in their eyes. So in addition to to the other challenges of trying to go from homeless to small business person, I spent three days in jail. Generally I'm a fan of trying new things, but I don't recommend that one. Avoid jail if you can.
Back to the tent. I'm sure most of you have gone camping at some point, and had your adventures. But sleeping in the tent night after night led to a few new adventures. I huddled under my rain poncho during the most intense thunderstorm I've ever witnessed. I had raccoons and a fox wander by at night. I found a baby snake in my tent one morning. That was interesting. I managed to catch it in a little box I used as a soap box, and let him loose by a fallen log. Win-win for both of us. I spent many wet, soggy, cold, and not-so-happy nights in the tent.
One night I returned to find some kids had thrown sticks and ripped my tent. I patched it up with shipping tape. Another time my tent had been searched, everything gone through, (I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs, just for the record) and there was a three foot long knife cut in the side of my tent. There were two pairs of blue latex gloves discarded on the trail out. I'm pretty sure who was responsible for that. I'm homeless, there was nothing I could do about it, except patch the rip with more shipping tape, and just keep pressing on day after day.
In my days in BMX freestyle, there's one lesson we all learned early, on the physical level. When you fall down, get back up and try again. It becomes ingrained in BMXers, skateboarders, and action sports athletes of any kind. We just don't give up. That's a big part of why so many action sports people become successful in business later on.
One night I returned in the dark, tired and just wanting to go to sleep, when I found people in my tent. At that point, anything can happen. Luckily for all involved, they went on their way as I politely, but firmly, told them to leave. They're my "neighbors" now. They have their own tent or something. My tent collapsed under the six inches of snow we got in January. I managed to afford a motel room that night, but I spent the next two nights huddled in the wet and partially collapsed tent until I got it shoveled off and back up.
Then came a break. A couple of guys watching me draw at a McDonald's commented on my work, which was a picture of a musician. They said I should go talk to the people at the music shop across the street. So I did. Within a short time, Phred and Jane from Earshot Music put a couple of my drawings up on the shop wall. The response was good, so Jane asked me to do several more and do a proper show there. I spent the late summer and early fall drawing as much as possible, so I could make it happen. That's the show that the drawing above is a flyer for. Several pieces have sold, and led to more orders. I knew that was my shot, and I ran with it. I owe a huge thanks to Phred and Jane for giving a chance to a sketchy, and usually smelly, homeless guy, based on my work itself.
Around the same time, I finally made it down to the First Friday Gallery Hop on Trade (and Liberty) Street. I wandered around, with my big sketch pad in wrapped in garbage bags (to keep rain out), and showed my work to anyone interested. I started talking to a woman named Luba, who really liked my stuff. She led me around, showing my work to everyone she could find. She introduced me to Rachel White, of Designs,Vines, & Wines who's in the Studios at 625 building on Trade Street. I went by the next couple First Fridays, and Rachel put some of my work up in here area, and dubbed me a "featured artist" for the month of February. Rachel is an Energizer bunny when it comes to promotion, and has helped me immensely, and I have to give her a big shout out for all her help. My Michael Jackson drawing and one of Maya Angelou are in her front window, along with great work from other artists, right now.
Between Earshot Music, Designs, Vines, and Wines, and my own online promotion, I now have a solid six weeks of paying work lined up. That means I need to finish up this blog post and get back to work pretty quick. I'm writing this post now because it seems I have finally reached the tipping point where I can say I'll be able to get a place to live, and make a living, as an artist, from now on. It's been a wild ride, and I don't expect the craziness to end, but I feel I'm at the starting point of a legitimate new career and some great opportunities.
I'd also like to thank Lisa O'Donnell from the Winston-Salem Journal. She did the initial artist profile on me tying into the Earshot show, and has become a friend as well. My friends Rick and Ben have also been lifesavers during these last crazy months, and I owe both of them big thanks (and some money) as well. Thanks guys!
So that's the recent part of my story. I need to keep working every day, do my community service and pay my fine from my arrest, and try to stay out of the types of trouble that plague homeless people. I'm writing this now to show that it is possible for someone here in the Triad to create their own job, even starting from a low level like homelessness.
You can see four recent drawings of mine in the last post. You've found my blog, where I write about several subjects, and share my artwork. I was a writer long before I was serious as an artist. You can check out my drawings in person at:
Earshot Music - 3254 Silas Creek Pkwy, W-S (right next to Marshall's, same shopping center as A.C. Moore and Toys-R-Us, across from Hanes Mall.) Five drawings are still up until the end of Feb., probably a couple up after that.
Designs, Vines &Wines/Studios at 625 - at, you guessed it, 625 Trade Street, downtown Winston Salem. Several drawings are up there right now, and a few small signed prints are available as well.
What I do best is... 18" X 24" drawings of musicians, athletes, or other performers. For now, I work from photos of taken by others, but once I finally get a decent camera, I'll shoot my own photos to draw from.
Here's my other social media info:
Facebook fan page: Steve Emig The White Bear
Facebook page: Steve Emig (in Winston-Salem)
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/stevenemig13/my-sharpie-art-20172018/
Likes, shares, and shameless promotion are always welcome...
I don't have a phone, really kids, I don't, so no Instagram or Twitter yet. You can reach me at: stevenemig13@gmail.com if you have questions, comments, or want me to draw you something. It's "steven", not steve, don't forget the "n".
"The White Bear" is my nickname/penname from the BMX days of the early 90's, and a lot of people in that world know me best by that name. It has nothing to do with race. It came from a poem I wrote when my first really serious girlfriend dumped me way back when. My roommate Chris read the poem, and started calling me The White Bear to harass me. The nickname stuck.
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