A Question To Contemplate

Question: What if we didn't know we were going to die?

I've been wrestling with this question for a while now. I’m sitting in my studio surrounded by my large-format cameras, lenses, and half-finished canvases, drawings, and pieces of ideas, feeling the persistent hum of mortality that seems to drive every mark I make and every plate I expose.

Becker wrote about our knowledge of death as the fundamental human condition—the thing that separates us from every other creature on this planet. But what if that knowledge simply wasn't there? Like your dog sprawled in the afternoon sun, or your cat stalking a shadow, or a lion moving through the African grasslands. They have no concept that they're finite beings. All they know is the immediate drive to survive and reproduce (and we have that too).

Imagine it. Really imagine it. You wake up tomorrow with no concept that your body will one day stop working, that your consciousness will end, that there's a finite number of sunrises ahead of you. How would you move through the world? What would the world look like?

I think about my own creative practice, how much of it is driven by the need to leave something behind to create meaning in the face of the void. Would I still feel that urgent pull to the canvas and the darkroom if death weren't whispering over my shoulder? Would any of us create anything at all?

Consider this: Would we still build monuments? The pyramids exist because pharaohs knew they would die and wanted to transcend that fate. Would we have cathedrals, symphonies, novels—these desperate attempts to touch immortality through art? Or would we live in a world of immediate gratification, where nothing needed to outlast us because we couldn't conceive of not lasting?

Think about love, too. So much of our romantic intensity comes from knowing our time together is limited. "Till death do us part" only has meaning because we understand death exists. Would we love as fiercely if we believed we had infinite time with someone? Would we love at all, or would relationships become casual arrangements since there'd be no urgency, no preciousness born from scarcity?

What about progress? Every scientific breakthrough, every medical advance, every technological leap forward—aren't these all responses to our limitations, including our ultimate limitation of mortality? We cure diseases because we fear death. We explore space because we dream of transcending our earthly expiration date. We pass knowledge to our children because we know we won't be here forever to guide them.

Without death consciousness, would we become a species of eternal children, living only in the present moment like animals do? There'd be no anxiety about wasting time because we wouldn't understand that time could be wasted. No existential dread, no midnight terrors, no desperate searches for meaning. But also no urgency, no drive to become more than we are.

I keep coming back to this in my work. Every painting I create carries within it the knowledge that both the artist and the viewer will someday be gone. That tension between permanence and impermanence—it's what gives art its power. Strip away death awareness, and do we lose the very thing that makes us human?

But here's what really haunts me: Would we be happier? Becker argued that our knowledge of death creates neurosis, depression, and the endless search for ways to deny our mortality through heroism and meaning-making. Without that knowledge, would we live in a state of pure being, untroubled by the existential weight that crushes so many of us?

Or would something else emerge to fill that void? Some other awareness, some other source of meaning and motivation that we can't even imagine because death looms so large in our current consciousness?

I want to hear from you. Sit with this question for a moment. Let it unsettle you the way it's unsettled me.

What do you think would change? What would we lose? What might we gain?

Would art exist without death anxiety driving it? Would you have the same intensity? Would we still reach for the stars, or would we be content to never leave the ground?

Share your thoughts. Challenge my assumptions. Push this question further than I have. Because if there's one thing I've learned in exploring these ideas, it's that the most profound questions are meant to be wrestled with together, not solved in isolation.

What would we become if we didn't know we were going to die?

Putting Lipstick On a Pig

You’ve heard the saying, right? “Putting lipstick on a pig.” Trying to dress something up to make it more palatable or appealing when, deep down, it’s still just a pig (no offense to pigs). No matter how much gloss or glitter you apply, the truth remains stubbornly beneath the surface. It’s a futile act of denial. Yet, we do it anyway. Why? Because facing reality, raw and unfiltered, is terrifying.

Let’s get real for a moment. What are you putting lipstick on? Your art? Your career? Your relationships? Maybe even yourself? I’d bet there’s at least one thing in your life you’re trying to disguise, hoping it’ll pass muster under closer scrutiny. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: if you know, others probably do too. We’re not as good at hiding as we think we are.

For years, I tried to dress things up to make my work—and myself—look more appealing, more acceptable. It’s exhausting. Worse, it’s dishonest. The turning point for me came through my obsession with art, philosophy, and psychology. They handed me an unexpected gift: the ability to toss the lipstick in the trash and embrace life for what it is—fully and unconditionally.

There’s a strange, profound freedom in stripping everything down to its essence. It’s about knowing who you are, what you’re doing, and most importantly, why you’re doing it. It’s about standing firmly in your truth—warts, wrinkles, and all. Of course, none of this erases the existential dread we all carry. But it lets you face it head-on, without pretense.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a sage possessing all the answers; far from it. I’m as susceptible to the human condition as anyone else. Death anxiety, self-doubt, the gnawing ache of impermanence—it’s all there. But here’s the difference: I’ve stopped fighting it. I’ve stopped pretending it’s not there. Instead, I acknowledge it, sit with it, and even let it guide me. It’s not about triumphing over these fears but learning to live with them, unvarnished and unapologetic.

So, what would happen if you ditched the lipstick? What would your art, your life, or your relationships look like if you let them be exactly what they are? No dressing up, no cover-ups, just the raw, unadulterated truth. It’s scary, sure. But maybe, just maybe, it’s also the most honest and liberating thing you’ll ever do.

Jean-Paul Sartre said, "Man is condemned to be free." That freedom, for Sartre, is both exhilarating and terrifying because it comes with the weight of full responsibility. There’s no script, no preordained path—just the choices we make and the truths we embrace. In the context of ditching the lipstick, Sartre’s idea of freedom means owning your life completely, without excuses or illusions. It’s not about perfection or acceptance from others; it’s about the radical act of living authentically, no matter how messy or unpolished it looks.

When you accept this freedom, you also accept the burden of it. You’re no longer hiding behind societal expectations or personal delusions. You’re standing in the open, exposed, with all your imperfections on display. But in that vulnerability lies the real beauty. Because when you create—whether it’s art, relationships, or meaning itself—from a place of authenticity, you’re not just living; you’re transcending. That’s the kind of freedom Sartre was talking about. And maybe that’s the kind of freedom we all need to stop putting lipstick on pigs and start facing life as it really is—can you imagine?

Dance in the mystery of it all! Embrace the absurd—revolt against the meaninglessness!

Agreed Madness

It’s our “one month” anniversary today. We’ve been in New Mexico for 30 days, and man, time has whizzed by!!

Between unpacking boxes and running household errands, I’ve been slowly getting back on track to work on my book. I get excited about the thought of actually completing this work. It’s no longer a hope or dream; it’s close to becoming a reality.

“Man literally drives himself into a blind obliviousness with social games, psychological tricks, and personal preoccupations so far removed from the reality of his situation that they are forms of madness—agreed madness, shared madness, disguised and dignified madness, but madness all the same.”

— Ernest Becker, Denial of Death

These theories seem simple on the surface, but it takes some deep thinking and evaluation to really understand them and, moreover, to apply them to your life. My hope is that by sharing these ideas and concepts in a book, it will inspire people (especially artists) to engage with these theories and start to share them through their art.

I wrote a while ago about someone asking me if there was a movement in art around “death anxiety.” In other words, Becker’s and Solomon's (et al.) theories could form an entire art movement based on the theories dealing with death anxiety and terror management. This is what happened in existential psychology. There are people working on PhDs in terror management theory and have been for years; why not art? Not unlike impressionism, cubism, dada, etc.

In a lot of ways, all art does address these ideas, but rarely intentionally or consciously. It’s food for thought and a wonderful way to get people to engage with these ideas.

Importance of Creativity

"Both the artist and the neurotic bite off more than they can chew, but the artist spews it back out again and chews it over in an objectified way, as an external, active, work project. The neurotic can’t marshal this creative response embodied in a specific work, and so he chokes on his introversions.

The only way to work on perfection is in the form of an objective work that is fully under your control and is perfectible in some real ways. Either you eat up yourself and others around you, trying for perfection; or you objectify that imperfection in a work, on which you then unleash your creative powers. In this sense, some kind of objective creativity is the only answer man has to the problem of life.

The creative person becomes, in art, literature, and religion, the mediator of natural terror and the indicator of a new way to triumph over it. He reveals the darkness and the dread of the human condition and fabricates a new symbolic transcendence over it. This has been the function of the creative deviant from the shamans through Shakespeare.

Otto Rank asked why the artist so often avoids clinical neurosis when he is so much a candidate for it because of his vivid imagination, his openness to the finest and broadest aspects of experience, and his isolation from the cultural world-view that satisfies everyone else. The answer is that he takes in the world, but instead of being oppressed by it, he reworks it in his own personality and recreates it in the work of art. The neurotic is precisely the one who cannot create." Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

Before Denial: A Primitive Painting

I’m exploring some ideas about figures. I have posted some abstract figures before, but I’m trying to work with ideas closer to the theories I’m exploring through art.

I had an idea that came from a book I read last year (and I’ve posted before about it) called “Denial: Self-Deception, False Beliefs, and the Origins of the Human Mind,” a book by Ajit Varki. It is an expansion and adaptation of a Danny Brower manuscript that he left behind (he recently died).

The book presents a theory about how the human mind evolved and the obstacles it overcame that allowed us to be the way we are today. The theory is based on the idea that denial of reality is a factor in how the human mind evolved and how we became intelligent, creative, and innovative.

Varki and Brower believe that humans are the world's ultimate risk-takers, ignoring scientific facts such as the dangers of smoking and climate change. They believe that this denial mechanism became essential once our brain evolved a more comprehensive understanding of ourselves and others. They call it “full theory of mind” or “theory of mind” (TOM).

Denial offers a warning about the dangers inherent in our ability to ignore reality. Denial makes you doubt your own perceptions; it is gaslighting and disturbing, and the effects of it are hidden and unconscious. There are some very powerful theories in this writing, mainly about how humans became conscious, or the point where we realized that we would die. Varki follows through with a detailed analysis of the steps that it took to get there, or here, and the price we’ve paid for it.