PROJECT 55 +
PATRIC
STILLMAN
PATRIC STILLMAN Project 55 [Expanded] Paintings and Photography by PATRIC STILLMAN www.patricstillman.com Book Design and Layout by THE STUDIO DOOR 3867 4th Avenue San Diego, CA 92103 www.TheStudioDoor.com © 2021 Patric Stillman, San Diego Please respect the integrity and vision of the featured art and artist by exercising your own creative vision and thought. No part of the contents of this book maybe reproduced without the written permission of Patric Stillman. All rights reserved.
Project 55 In the 55 weeks heading up to my 55th Birthday, I put myself to task to create series of small works in acrylics. Each 6” square masterpiece to represent one year of my life. The only restriction was that I had to do one work per week and post it on social media along with a short statement telling the story of that year. I gave myself full permission to paint in whatever style came to me. No rules. It came out in a jumble as I jumped through the years in no certain order. Project 55+ In the three years since, I have had repeated requests from fans and artists alike asking that I repost the series, hang it up in my studio and share the stories of my life again. In the Fall of 2021, I decided to revisit the project by presenting the works in chronological order for the first time. The carrot at the end of the stick was that I would update the project with three additional works. To my surprise, even more people engaged in my posts and the voices began to call our for a book of my art and words. Join me as we spin around the sun peering in on my personal journey through the years.
Year One * An artist is born. Not wanting to wait to enter the world any longer, I arrive eight weeks earlier than expected, only to find myself in the frozen tundra during a brutal Minnesota winter.
Year Two They don’t know it but my sister and brother are living in the sweet spot. In just a few months, I’ll be talking and walking. Poor things, they live at ground zero. They are about to learn that the youngest Stillman has a lot to say …and once mobile can get into everything.
Year Three I share a room with my brother. He lives in the top bunk. He is stronger, smarter and better at everything. I idolize him. I talk his head off. Sometimes he looks out for me. I’m a brat who asks for trouble & cries when I get it. Nothing can stop me from loving my brother.
Year Four My world consists of about three adjacent “city” blocks of houses with kids, houses without kids, and a park. I tag along with my brother, stub my toes on the sidewalk constantly, and feel uncertain about everything. I’m one of the runts in the neighborhood litter. I see things at night in the shadows. Around dinnertime, I get to watch our black and white TV.
Year Five I become the boy in perpetual motion at the happiest place on earth. My Dad converts a van into a mobile home and my family sets off across the country to see what lies between Minnesota and California. I fall hard for the west and it will eventually become my adult home.
Year Six The little artist emerges with a lack of coordination and prickling frustration. Traits that continue to bubble just underneath the surface of my creativity. My artistic voice has always been stronger than the execution of my vision. Its all part of … my challenge, … my focus, …my calling.
Year Seven In every corner of the world there is chaos but in my Midwestern bubble you can find me lazily glued to a wasteland of kiddie psychedelic cartoons and groovy music. Sock it to me!
Year Eight Forget 007, my brother and I spend hours creating our own underground shelters. Perfect for storing bombs, hiding from the dog, and planning our next attack on each other! Hee, hee, hee.
Year Nine Much to my father’s chagrin, I come across a lil’ pup that I fall in love with. I name him Bandit because he reminds me of Jonny Quest’s dog. After living through several insufferable days of my whining, my Dad relents as I promise to do “everything” I can to take care of the it. As foreseen, I fail pretty quickly in my responsibilities and he becomes my Mom’s permanent companion.
Year Ten My imagination expands as my sister studies on board the QE2, which carries her around the globe. My longing to leave the cornfields to satisfy my wanderlust is permanently set. I’m too young to realize the incredible adventures t hat lie ahead.
Year Eleven Grandpa Stillman lived on an Indian reservation in a log cabin alongside of a Wisconsin lake that had a little island in the center of it. He smelled like tobacco to scare the bears in the woods. Grandma kept his kitchen smelling like a bakery. I thought the world of him and pleaded with God to keep him alive after he suffered a fatal stroke...
Year Twelve Death is in the room. My beloved Grandfather is torn from my world. Family secrets are whispered in the shadows. Skeletons are out of the closet. Aunts and Uncles I never met and will never see again momentarily appear. I’m left with more questions than answers in the ruins of a shattered family drama.
Year Thirteen They nicest thing they call me is Gentle Ben. I’m the uncoordinated guy who runs from a fight and has to go to summer school because I’m failing gym. Yup, a true old school nerd. I spend my time creating a sound strategy with my traveling magnetic chess set; typing words using my handheld calculator; and begin collecting comic books all the while dreaming of an adventurous life far, far away.
Year Fourteen The spirits of my ancestors visit me as my father packs us up for an American Bicentennial trip. We travel through time and space as we set course for the reverse migration of The Stillmans across America leading us to 1685 in the north-east. Early settlers, preachers, revolutionary musket makers, abolitionists, lumberjacks, sailors and militiamen silently live within my bloodline. I ask myself, who were these passionate men and what would they make of me?
Year Fifteen My first paying gig. I get a Summer job working as a Greenskeeper Assistant, who is so incompetent that my boss quits. I can’t golf and though I suck at my job, I have the time of my life. The hard-earned cash helps pay for comic books that I devour at an alarming rate.
Year Sixteen Look out there is a new kid in town. A soft perm, contacts and a major growth spurt surprises everyone. eople who knew me for years don’t recognize me. A summer in the City with the Children’s Theater Company and School, a job at Mr. A’s Drive In, skinny dipping in 10,000 lakes, kissed by a boy and getting occasionally high reshape my outlook on what life has to offer. This is the end of the innocence.
Year Seventeen I learn that philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson said that the only gift one should give is a portion of themselves. As a school assignment, we were to pick the fruit or flower that represented our true self. Hearing that my fellow classmates were all fruits, I was obviously a flower. I chose the Iris and it continues to be a symbol of my personal identity today.
Year Eighteen Out. Blondie blares from the radio of my Plymouth Fury III as I speed up 35W. The IDS Center rises in front of me as if the city of Minneapolis was giving the world a middle finger. Once the night lights shine upon Nicollet Mall and Hennepin Avenue, I strut into the Y’all Come Back Saloon to shake my ass, drown my fears and look for a midwestern cowboy to share a few hours with before making my way south of the Minnesota River to my own bed.
Year Nineteen This is the year that I met the Mistress of the North and survived Kullervo’s curse. I was gifted a lifetime held together by the bark of a simple year. My eyes were filled with the tails of foxes t hat flew across the night sky. I tasted the sweet berries and bitter mushrooms plucked from the forest floor. I plunged my heated body into the frozen waters of winter. The living sang of life and the dead cried endless tears. Unforgettable, indescribable, life changing … Suomi Finland.
Year Twenty Don’t let it be forgot • That once there was a spot • For one brief shining moment • That was known as Camelot! From high school to college, the stage lights and applause pull at my soul so I study the Theater at St. Edwards University in Austin, Texas. My first (and pretty much my last) gig is to understudy for King Arthur in Camelot. It comes too easily for me so I pack up and head back to Minnesota in pursuit of different dreams.
Year Twenty-one The Minne-Apple is now my home as I establish myself while going to university and living in my own studio apartment. I’m surrounded by an amazing array of friends who are just trying to sort it all out. Spirituality, sexuality, confidence and camaraderie all move me towards adulthood. Life is messy but also delicious.
Year Twenty-two File. Edit. View. I’m juggling International Business and Design classes while working at the Audio/Visual Center of the University of Minnesota’s Bio-Medical Library. The personal computer arrives. We get a handful of “the original macintosh desktops” to handle our inventory and give Med students access to the latest technology. I spend hours exploring the limited range of programs not really realizing that the world has changed forever.
Year Twenty-three What things done that shows a man and his mettle? …Adult life arrives. I move to The City for love but end up finding that I must stand on my own, sometimes reaching great heights and other times falling on my face. San Francisco enchants, frightens, seduces and eventually, takes me under its wings.
Year Twenty-four No escape from the devastation caused by the AIDS epidemic. Living in Seattle, my friend Clá becomes sick, is rejected by his family, and disappears. I finally get a call about his death from Marty, my first love who is still living in Minnesota. He too only has months before he is gone from this world. I walk across San Francisco to Land’s End and scream at the Ocean until my voice is gone. I am changed.
Year Twenty-five * From the Castro to South of Market, I own San Francisco along with my best buddy, Phil. A remarkable friendship. A kindred spirit. One for the ages. Watch out ‘cause the boys are back in town.
Year Twenty-six Needing a new outlook, I move to West Hollywood in search of a west coast Greenwich Village experience. It is it’s own beast entirely. I find myself drawn into the nightlife and begin a complicated relationship with LA that seemingly never ends.
Year Twenty-seven Play hard and working harder. As North American General Manager for a company representing seven Hong Kong-based factories making fashion watches and gifts, I spend as much time on a plane as I do at home in Los Angeles. Hong Kong, New York, Toronto, Houston and Las Vegas become my playgrounds.
Year Twenty-eight Pour yourself a drink, be clever, slip into some music, fill your eyes with the cinema and rage at the world, Darling. Alvin provides me with the shortest relationship and the longest friendship of my life. When my Mother meets him, she asks me confidentially if this is the type of man that I like. …apparently I have a thing for bad boys who think for themselves.
Year Twenty-nine “Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And oft’ is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d: But thy eternal Summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” Sonnet 18, Shakespeare Too deep? It’s fricken Shakespeare comparing a young man to a summer’s day.
Year Thirty The Hollywood veneer is cracked as the city is riddled with riots. Protesters, madmen and cops crawl through the streets. I peer out into the night from the rooftop of my apartment complex. My eyes are open wide in horror as gunmen shoot into nearby buildings and speed off into the night. The next day, I walk through streets of broken glass and graffiti. The world feels unspeakably hollow.
Year Thirty-one Tina, Mick, Bowie, Annie, Boy, Townsend, Santana, Elton and so many others have turned my ears inside out over the years. But there was one priestess who set the bar so high that no other has been able to compare. Singing in her natural voice, Cyndi Lauper performed her entire fourth LP Hat Full of Stars at the Henry Ford Theater in LA before it was released. She ruled that audience and brought the roof down.
Year Thirty-two Amtrak shuttles me back and forth from LA to San Diego as I explore my feelings for the guy that eventually convinces me to slide to the southwestern corner of the US. We start upon an eight year journey of peaks and lows that give us insights into our true selves, which cements a lasting friendship.
Year Thirty-three I navigate the fast moving stream of community service facing public politics, cold shoulders, long hours, backroom antics, unspeakable roadblocks, personal posturing and days filled with bombshells of disillusionment. From the driver’s seat, I try to find solace knowing that the battles that I fight shield my brothers and sisters living and dying with AIDS from the bullshit that life continues to throw in our collective path. With as much compassion as I can muster, I do what I can.
Year Thirty-four Enthusiasm and excitement quickly turn to bitter disappointment. Excited to serve, I gladly accept a position at San Diego AIDS Foundation to head up housing assistance, medical transportation and food distribution for people living with HIV/AIDS. Within two months, the organization is abruptly shut down by the County for financial mismanagement and I am put in the unimaginable position to be at ground level left to tell people in need that I don’t know how they will be able to keep their housing, how they will get to their doctor’s appointments or have food to eat. The community is turned on its head without alternative plans in place.
Year Thirty-five Windows on the world …with low visibility. Somehow I find myself working for World Trade Center San Diego in an entirely unsatisfying career move. One of the odd perks of job is that I find myself dining on top of the Twin Towers in New York City on my birthday surrounded by dubious and distinguished business men from across the globe. In a few years, 9/11 will be personal.
Year Thirty-six The American Dream. Before two people of the same sex could marry, California legalized Domestic Partnerships. I achieve peak suburbanization. 2 income household. 3-bedroom 2-bath home. Immaculate yard. Large screen TV. Two cars. Three cats. Ahhh, the sweet spot.
Year Thirty-seven 500 hundred years later, I walk through the village of my ancestors. The home that they hastily left 200 years ago, which they lived in for 300 years before that time, still stands. I’m a dream they never knew would exist. The final pilgrimage of one of the last leaves on this branch of my family tree.
Year Thirty-eight I hit the pink ceiling. I’m denied having my voice heard for a position I am fully capable for, all in the name of keeping the espirit de corps among staff. I step up and call the shit out. I agree to stay for one year and pull back emotionally from my career.
Year Thirty-nine We all have our own stories at a time of crisis. 9/11. I arrive at my job with San Diego World Trade Center in the wee hours only to be interrupted by our security guard telling me that the World Trade Center in New York has been hit by a plane. I pull a TV into my office and am shaken to the core as I watch the events unfold. I worry about the men and women I know at the New York headquarters. Unsure what has happened, I notify the local staff not to come in as our building gets searched for bombs before I stagger home in an unhealthy daze.
Year Forty I find myself at a personal Elysium. The Republic of Kiribati joins Yosemite Lake and Kangasala, Finland as a significant physical place that reaffirms my sense of self. The memory of these places, can fill my senses and calm my spirit even just by recalling them.
Year Forty-one Life changing perspectives reshape my entire life. The artist is unchained. The internet sends me virtually racing around the world as I breathe life into The Brotherhood Tarot. I’m devoted to the creation of my first serious creative work
Year Forty-two Reclamation. I stop struggling with living a life that I feel I’m supposed to and its resulting dissatisfaction. I take a personal shamanic walkabout and embrace the creativity that springs forth. I fervently dance my way into a new reality.
Year Forty-three In the process of painting, the darkest part and lightest part lie next to each other. I start the year hospitalized and fighting for my life. A chance encounter brings Danne into view. It’s not long before he flags his way into my heart. In spite of living lives that had several opportunities to collide. This is the year that our shared story truly begins.
Year Forty-four I woke up one morning after the sun rose through the clouds of a rainy night and marveled as the world sparkled with clarity. Just as I stepped into a puddle, I looked down at the clouds above me. And as the ripples began to drift away from me, I realized I had changed.
Year Forty-five “The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat…” I say goodbye to my beloved blue-eyed cat Satu. She is the tailend of my familiars. The last(ing) heartbreak that I will suffer his lifetime over a feline family member. She joins Margarita and Rikki “on the edge of the sand where they dance by the light of moon.”
Year Forty-six Lover, friend, collaborator, muse. The protective walls I craftily built over the years crumble. I stand before him emotionally bare and find his kind eyes looking back at me evenly exposed.
Year Forty-seven I move with a peculiar uneasiness as my own shadow conspicuously defines my solitude. Time has now claimed both of my parents. The world feels wanting and the future obscure.
Year Forty-eight Something remarkable happens when you unplug from the world, enter paradise with your partner and live in the moment. In an alternative reality, I’m sure that we never left Kauai and live the rest of our sunsets on the island of dreams.
Year Forty-nine I take my hand off the mouse and place it back into a jar of paint. Colorbox chameleons move in closer to me and offer to guide my creative spirit. Blank canvases transform themselves into yet another version of Brotherhood Tarot; this time in acrylics. As luminous pigments drip off my fingertips, I accept the designation of ‘artist.’
Year Fifty A remarkable dream jumps from one night to the next. I’m inspired to start writing Atakis, the “Great American Novel.” I tear through note books as ideas flood the pages. The fantasy of the story is only matched by my own hubris. Like most dreams it gets filed back into the recesses of my psyche waiting to spring to life another time.
Year Fifty-one * And the winner is .... I’m awarded first prize for my painting CUT SLEEVE V at Art of Pride. The joy this moment gives me is so deeply satisfying as the work crosses time and space to the core of my identity. A significant affirmation.
Year Fifty-two As I find myself “renovating North Park one gallery at a time,” I discover that an indomitable spirit is the cornerstone of my foundation. “Omne trium perfectum” (everything that comes in threes is perfect).
Year Fifty-three Joie de vivre! A reminder that when you reach for the stars, you might catch the moon. My art is seen in an exhibit at the Musée du Louvre.
Year Fifty-four Got Milk? (California Milk Processing Board) commissions me to paint a life-size cow for charity. My first 3D work gets high praise and exhibited on the streets of Dana Point and in the sculptural gardens of Newport Beach before being auctioned off. Everyone loves Milkshake!
Year Fifty-five Illumination. Powerful and deliberate creative powers from within shape my artistic voice. The past is bathed in clarity. I settle into my body of work and my mind is launched into the realm of possibilities
Year Fifty-six The block on which the The Studio Door thrives is sold. I hurl myself into the possibilities and find myself in Fabulous Hillcrest. I take everything I’ve learned and with the help of my loved ones redesign & rebuild the dream.
Year Fifty-seven A golden achievement. The category is Outstanding Achievement in the Arts and the winner is... The Studio Door. I’ve been so busy making things happen that I didn’t realize that my community was watching. I’m flabbergasted.
Year Fifty-eight Whew! When worlds collide. Politics, pandemics and protests. I join the ranks of those who are disillusioned and left standing in the debris with eyes wide open. The only way out is through and it’s a rough ride. place my head down, button up my jean jacket and start moving forward.
The Long and Short of It Elämä Jatkuu Life Continues
Year One
The Youth
Year Twenty-five
The Warrior
Year Fifty-one
The Sage
Artnapped! * Tragedy strikes at The Studio Door! After I finished this project, I hung it up to share. Three works from my project were stolen right off the walls of my studio. I recall a young couple who came in. They were a bit high, definitely squirrelly and laughing a little too loudly. One moment they were in the gallery and the next they were leaving. “I’m trying to get him interested in art,” the girl said as they slyly giggled their way back out to the sidewalk. A few minutes later, my mother-in-law asked me if I had moved the art pieces from the wall to photography. I replied, “What are you talking about?” Sure enough in the two minutes that these visitors walked into my life, they left with three years.
PATRIC
STILLMAN
SAN DIEGO