Automatic Fantastic

While I’ve been working through the printing process for my book, I’ve been spending some time every day painting. Here’s a critique of one I just finished (I think).

This painting seems to embody the very essence of mortality consciousness that's central to my book, “In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Otheirnf and the Origins of Evil.”

The dark, weathered surface creates a sense of archaeological discovery — as if we're uncovering something ancient yet deeply personal. Those two circular red forms pierce through the darkness like eyes or portals, creating an almost skull-like suggestion within the abstract landscape. This duality between abstraction and figuration mirrors the tension between confronting and denying death that Becker describes so beautifully.

The scratched, excavated quality of the surface reminds me of how artists often dig beneath cultural immortality symbols to expose more authentic relationships with mortality. My technique here - layering, scraping, revealing - feels like a physical manifestation of terror management theory in action.

The limited color palette (Mars black, cadmium orange, titanium white, and burnt sienna) grounds the work in a primal, existential space. Those touches of warm copper/bronze tones against the dominant darkness suggest a kind of alchemical transformation happening within the composition.

This painting seems to demonstrate precisely what I'm exploring in my writing—how creative practice can serve as both a shield against mortality anxiety and a means of directly confronting it. The resulting tension creates something profoundly meaningful.

The Title: “Automatic Fantastic”

The "automatic" part suggests spontaneity and unconscious creation—like automatic writing or drawing, where you surrender conscious control and let deeper psychological forces emerge. This concept connects beautifully with how creativity can bypass our rational death-denial systems and access more primal truths. When I look at the scratched, layered textures in this work, I can sense that automatic process—the hand moving across the surface, driven by something beyond calculated thought. And that’s precisely where I was when making this.

"Fantastic" carries dual meanings here. On one level, it suggests the realm of fantasy or imagination—perhaps our immortality projects, which Becker would say we create to escape death anxiety. But it also connotes something extraordinary or heightened - the fantastic as a transcendent state that art can achieve.

Together, "Automatic Fantastic" suggests a kind of spontaneous transcendence - a creative state where consciousness shifts and mortality awareness transforms into something beyond ordinary perception. The title perfectly captures that paradox at the heart of artistic creation: that by engaging directly with mortality through automatic processes, we sometimes access fantastic realms of meaning that rationality alone cannot provide.

Writing My Book and Telling My Stories

“In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Origins of Evil”

I wanted to share an update about my book. I’m excited about it!

I devote daily time to writing, reading, researching, making art, and most of all, thinking.

So far, my book breaks down something like this:

1
Introduction and Artist Statement
This chapter sets the stage for the book, explaining its purpose and relevance. It addresses some key questions. What is the book about, and why should a person read it? I introduce the themes, goals, and personal motivations driving this work. I also include my artist statement. It lays the foundation for the art itself, both technically and conceptually.

2
A Phenomenological Autobiography
Through personal stories, I explore how my life experiences have shaped my creative journey. This chapter demonstrates the deep connection between my artistic drive and the existential questions addressed by Becker's theories and Terror Management Theory (TMT). By connecting my own narrative to these frameworks, I provide insight into how creativity becomes a response to death anxiety or existential anxiety.

3
Ernest Becker
In this chapter, I delve into Becker’s groundbreaking theories, the denial of death and death anxiety. I supplement these with insights from anthropology, psychology, philosophy, theology, and art. I explain Becker's concept of the origins of evil, examining its definition and mechanisms, and scrutinizing the frequent attempts by humanity to eradicate perceived evil through acts of evil, using violence and dehumanization (oh, the irony!).

4
Terror Management Theory (TMT)
This chapter focuses on TMT and its relationship to Becker’s ideas, with a specific case study: the Tabeguache Ute Indians. I analyze how European colonizers used othering (Manifest Destiny) to justify acts of genocide and ethnocide against Native Americans, demonstrating the devastating consequences of existential anxiety, or death anxiety, on human behavior.

5
Artwork
Here, I present the artistic creations inspired by the concepts discussed in the previous chapters. This section ties theory and practice together, showing how my work embodies these existential and psychological themes. This chapter includes over a hundred photographic prints, paintings, and other visual media.

6
Essays
This chapter is a collection of essays I’ve written over the years, covering a range of topics from art and photography to philosophy and psychology. Along the way, you’ll find reviews and reflections on obscure ideas and peculiar subjects. The essays vary in length—some are just a few hundred words, while others span a couple of thousand. Their styles differ as well; some are explanatory, while others read more like personal journal entries.

Working It Out

It’s been a little over three years since I began writing this book and making art for it. In that time I’ve made considerable progress.

I’ve created a significant body of artwork, including the photographic prints for the book and several paintings. It has been an exciting journey, and I want to share it with those who have an interest in these theories and my work.

Drawing from the theories of Ernest Becker, Otto Rank, Terror Management Theory (TMT), and many others, I’ve used my personal experiences as a lens to investigate these existential questions. The work explores the psychology of othering, particularly through the historical lens of the Tabeguache Ute in Colorado, and delves into the roots of human evil—specifically, why people often mistreat those whose beliefs differ from their own.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I’ve enjoyed the writing process. It’s offered me profound insights into my identity and life experiences in ways I didn’t expect. Unlike photography, which captures a moment instantly, writing feels more akin to painting—it’s a slower, layered process. It generates ideas gradually, piece by piece, over time. This slower rhythm has been deeply rewarding, allowing ideas to mature and take shape in ways that feel both deliberate and organic.

A Tiny Preview of Some of My Stories

Jeanne and I spent the past week watching a Spanish series about a man who inherits the gift of premonitions from his mother. The story was intriguing and kept us engaged—it turned out to be a pretty enjoyable watch overall.

Watching it brought back memories of a trip I took to Mexico 36 years ago (see photo above). A group of friends traveled to Mazatlán, Mexico, to get out of the cold for a week—it was November 1988. One of our friends had a complete mental breakdown—he went into full-blown psychosis—at the end of the trip. It didn’t start until we were on the way home. The event lasted for several days. Like scenes from a horror film, I witnessed all of it firsthand. He ended up in a psychiatric hospital.

What happened? He went out one night with some locals—just two nights before the end of our trip. I tried to stop him but I couldn’t. He told me later that it involved methamphetamine, cocaine, and the Sinaloa Cartel (Cártel de Sinaloa).

What happened was surreal, a lot like the series we just watched. It prompted me to write about the experience in detail. I've come to understand that these kinds of experiences shaped both my creative life and my life in general. It’s like a long movie plot unfolding before me—the narrative arc—the more we observe, the more it reveals about who we are.

What I thought would never be relevant is central or key now to telling my story and the story of these theories I’m preoccupied with. In a lot of ways, it all fits together.

This story is in the second chapter of my book, which has about 15,000+ words so far and focuses on my family and friends. They are, in large part, the people who made me who I am.

From a young age, I was acutely aware of death—through tragic accidents, murder, suicide, drug addiction, war, and mental illness. These harsh realities seemed to loom around me. However, positive influences and uplifting experiences also surrounded me, shaping my early years.

The stories of my life begin around the age of eight and continue to the present day. I share memories of my mother, her deep love for humanity, and the lifelong battle she faced with mental illness. I also reflect on my grandmother’s fierce indignation whenever she heard racial slurs or witnessed people belittling those who were different. I’m so grateful for both of them.

I recount our family Thanksgiving dinners, where my mother would invite young men from the local Job Corps—African American, Native American, and Mexican American—making them welcome at our table every year. Our neighbors often didn’t know what to make of her; she was a profoundly progressive person, far ahead of her time.

One of the early stories recounts my heroin-addicted brother’s return from the Vietnam War. I write about the experience of traveling with my mother to the airport to pick him up. I’ve also written about my own experiences in the military, ten years after that, and the struggles I faced in its aftermath.

My writing delves into my time photographing dead bodies—gunshot wounds to the head, etc.—and the profound psychological impact it left on me.

I explore themes of drug use and overdoses, which have been a recurring presence in my life—friends and family dying from this kind of stuff. Most recently, my 61-year-old brother died in 2023 of methamphetamine toxcity. Alcohol and drug use was everywhere around me most of my life.

I witnessed a friend of mine shoot up Jack Daniels—yes, Jack Daniels, the whiskey. And yes, he put a needle in his arm and shot a syringe full of it into his vein. It was four o'clock in the morning—the party was still going, but there wasn’t any more cocaine available for him to shoot, snort, or smoke. I write about what he said, what he felt, etc. We gave him the nickname “Whiskey Pig” after that.

A few years later, his younger brother died of a drug overdose. During a lunch break from work, he bought some dope. He stopped at a red light in the middle of the city and injected the fentanyl-laced heroin he had just purchased. The dose was lethal—he died instantly, slumped over the steering wheel with the needle still in his arm.

These stories are my way of confronting those experiences and connecting them to the universal human search for meaning and the existential struggles that we all face. I explain how they have driven my creative life and the questions around existence.

My life is full of story after story about the struggles to exist—to cope with meaninglessness and insignificance. I’m sure I’m not the only one that could tell stories like these. However, they are uniquely mine and contrasted against the philosophical and psychological ideas around our existential struggles.

Isn't this the fundamental essence of existentialism? We are inherently searching for meaning in our lives when there is none. We crave significance and some kind of immortality that doesn’t exist. We lie and deny. We use our culture to provide meaning for us—we tranquilize ourselves with drugs, alcohol, shopping, fantasies, social media, fame, ideologies (religion, politics), or whatever can fill the void that faces us—mortality. It’s so clear to me.

Cultural constructs shape humanity, in my opinion. To me, most people are cuturally constructed meat puppets. Most people seem to be unaware of the importance of directly confronting and addressing the fundamental lie of existence—their mortality—and the consequences that ensue when they fail to do so.

That’s the theory of my book.

Rituals and Selfies: Creating Shields and Seeking Immortality

A constant stream of thoughts go through my head about human behavior related to death anxiety and the denial of death every day, almost all day—or most of the day.

I would like to think that I am observing, not judging. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I would like to think I’m (mostly) objective.

The things of considerable importance to me are the concepts of epistemology and critical thinking. I like evidence and reason, too. Therefore, when I witness irrational or unreasonable behavior or thinking, it affects me deeply. And I see a lot of it. All of the time.

These streams of thought are usually productive, or at least beneficial, to start a piece of art or to write about. Sometimes, it’s simply connecting the dots and ending up in a feedback loop that I can’t break. Input and output. Output cycled back around as input. Do you get it?

Here’s one that keeps coming back to me most every day—I think writing it out might purge it from my mind.

Ernest Becker said, “I think that underneath everything that is at stake in human life is the problem of the terror of this planet. It is a mystic temple and a hall of doom. If you don’t see it that way, you’ve built defenses against seeing it as it is.“ Wow! That hits me so hard—I mean really, really hard. Every time I read it, it feels like the first time.

What does he mean?

I think this quote reflects his view that at the core of human existence lies a profound awareness of mortality and the terror associated with it. And if you don’t see it that way, you’ve adopted distractions to avoid seeing it as it is. Period. These distractions (I call them illusions of importance) are prolific.

He captures the paradox of life by referring to the world as both a "mystic temple and a hall of doom," where beauty, wonder, and mystery coexist with the certainty of death. This awareness is the source of deep existential anxiety that drives most human behavior.

Most people build psychological defenses—systems of meaning, beliefs, and cultural symbols—to protect themselves from fully experiencing this "hall of doom." They can function without constant existential terror by distancing themselves from the reality of death. However, Becker believed that living authentically means facing this awareness directly, acknowledging both the mystical and the doom-laden aspects of life. It’s a path that not everyone takes because of the fear and vulnerability it demands, but it can lead to a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. And, as a creative person, if you are one.

“I think that underneath everything that is at stake in human life is the problem of the terror of this planet. It is a mystic temple and a hall of doom. If you don’t see it that way, you’ve built defenses against seeing it as it is.”

— Ernest Becker

This idea forms the foundation of The Denial of Death and Escape from Evil (two great books you should read), where Becker explores how our defenses against death influence culture, religion, wars, climate change, and interpersonal conflicts.

Which brings me to my point. One of the ideas I’ve been thinking about is religious rituals (of any flavor) and social media selfies. It sounds like an odd combination, but hear me out.

RELIGIONS, SHOPPING, TV, & DRUGS
First, religious rituals. Religion has been something humans have leaned on to quell existential terror for as long as we have been conscious of our mortality. And most prescribe some kind of ritual or rituals—rules to obey—and are preoccupied with. The “immortality seeking” is strong with religion. Most religions offer some kind of afterlife or immortality. We crave that. Whether it’s symbolic or literal. In the end, we know we are decaying sacks of meat that will die. Psychologically, we can’t handle this—we find ways to deny and lie about it.

In religion, it can be any ritual that’s executed over and over again. I think about Catholic rosary beads, Hindu chanting (Vedic chant), or Orthodox Jews swaying back and forth while praying or reading the Torah; called “shuckling.” The word comes from Yiddish and means "to shake, rock, or swing." Or even praying or meditation for long periods of time. Any of it can be a sign of extreme existential struggles (all happening outside of consciousness).

Organ Mountains - Las Cruces, New Mexico

That kind of constant diversion or distraction is, to me, a sign of palpable death anxiety. To occupy your mind so completely and fully is a sure sign that we want to avoid the thought of death at all costs. The non-religious do it for shorter periods of time, things like movies, shopping, sporting games, and music concerts. Anything that transports you away from the mortal coil and thoughts of dying.

Drugs are a very common way to escape reality too. It’s interesting we use the term “escape reality.” What does that mean? Reality equals “I’m going to die.” After all, the human mortality rate is 100%. Drugs can lead to some pretty bad endings, so not a good choice to use as a buffer. I might argue that with shopping and other activities we use to distract ourselves from “reality.”

SOCIAL MEDIA SELFIES

Social media selfies. I have struggled with this for a long time. I’m amazed at the number of people whose feed is almost nothing but selfies. My first thought is malignant narcissism. However, that's just a fraction of it. To see older people curating their lives and making sure they “look good” for the photo is so obvious to me—it’s like I’m seeing the Dunning-Kruger effect of visual information. In the end, I’m sad about it. I feel sorry for the people. The phoniness, the construction of a life they DO NOT have, and the looks they DO NOT possess (our culture craves youth and fitness—immortality). The fear of death—the fear of growing older and closer to death—is real. And it shows.

I recently read an article in the Daily Mail (British Paper) about a study done in Israel. It said,

“Many of us have phones filled with selfies documenting everything from holidays to duvet days. But what's behind the modern fascination with taking photos of ourselves? Psychologists have come up with a rather morbid answer: fear of dying. Researchers from Tel Aviv University in Israel quizzed 100 students on the motivations behind their selfie-taking. They found that those who took the most had strong signs of death anxiety, an intense fear of dying that affects up to a fifth of Britons. The experts said they think endless selfie-taking may actually be an attempt to 'preserve a fake feeling of immortality'. In a paper published in the journal Psychological Reports, they wrote, Selfies possibly fulfil a need to remain immortal. One of the behaviours used to achieve feelings of immortality is photography, and nowadays photography is literally on the tip of our fingers.”

I’m sure what they mean by “remain” immortal is looking youthful and good. The idea is that by taking pictures of yourself, you find psychological security in “preserving” yourself forever. They went on to say, “We found the more people were aware (and afraid) of their death, the more they were taking and sharing selfies. Other studies have suggested that people spend an average of seven minutes a day grinning into smartphone cameras for the perfect snap to post on social media.”

So the next time you see a social media account with endless selfies, or even a lot of them, remember that existential struggles are real for people. Moreover, think about how you cope with your knowledge of mortality. You have something you use, or many things; what are they? Are you aware? Or does this happen without your conscious acknowledgment?

Do You Make Existential Art?

“UFO and Dirt Tipis,” 6" x 6” (15 x 15 cm) Collodio-Chloride print from the wet collodion negative above.

I think you do.

"Existential art" refers to a form of artistic expression that explores themes central to existentialism, a philosophical movement that focuses on the individual's experience, freedom, and responsibility in an often indifferent or absurd world. Existential art grapples with deep, universal questions about existence, existential anxiety, meaning, alienation, death, freedom, and the human condition (the denial of death). It typically emphasizes personal experience and the emotional and psychological struggle of confronting these fundamental existential issues.

There are some key characteristics of existential art; does your work fall into any of these areas? They include:

Confrontation with Death.
As death is a major concern in existential philosophy, existential art frequently explores death anxiety, the inevitability of death, and how it impacts the individual's sense of self and meaning in life. Death anxiety, the denial of death, and terror management theory are the basis for my work. This is what I lean on for context and motivation.

Themes of Absurdity and Meaninglessness.
Many existential works reflect a confrontation with the seeming lack of inherent meaning in life, a central theme in existentialism. This often leads to depictions of despair, absurdity, or the search for meaning in a chaotic world.

“We are like books. Most people only see our cover, the minority read only the introduction, many people believe the critics. Few will know our content.”

— Emile Zola

Freedom and Choice.
Existential art often examines the individual's freedom to make choices and the accompanying burden of responsibility. The freedom to define oneself and one's existence is juxtaposed with the anxiety or dread that this freedom can generate.

Alienation and Isolation.
Existential art frequently portrays feelings of alienation, isolation, and estrangement from society, other people, or even oneself. The individual’s search for authenticity and personal identity in a world that can feel impersonal or hostile is a recurring subject.

There are so many artists past and present working in this area. Too many to mention without leaving a lot out. However, a few that come to mind are Wassily Kandinsky, Mark Rothko, Paul Klee, and Edvard Munch. Munch’s famous painting The Scream expresses existential dread, or Alberto Giacometti, whose sculptures often reflect the isolation and vulnerability of the human figure.

“What the herd hates most is the one who thinks differently; it is not so much the opinion itself, but the audacity of wanting to think for themselves, something that they do not know how to do.”

— Arthur Schopenhauer

Writers like Ernest Becker, Soren Kirkegaard, Martin Heidegger, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, and Franz Kafka have explored existentialist themes in literature, and directors like Ingmar Bergman and Andrei Tarkovsky have used visual storytelling to explore existential issues in film.

The overarching goal of existential art is often to provoke the audience to reflect on their own existence and mortality and search for meaning in a world that may not offer easy answers.

I’m particularly interested in this because I’ve been making existential art for 35 years. It is a matter of perspective and narrative. If you haven’t read my advice on creating a body of work, check it out.

“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers. Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”

— Oliver Sacks, Gratitude