Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
2026
20 × 20 in.
Watercolor on Paper
Original / 1 of 1
I made Monkey Business while sitting in an emergency veterinary hospital for three nights after my dog suffered a traumatic brain injury.
It was terrifying.
There wasn't much I could do except be there with him, wait, hope, talk to the veterinary staff, and try not to spend every second thinking about everything that could go wrong.
So I did what I've learned to do when I need somewhere else for my brain to go.
I created something.
I started drawing monkeys.
The idea was intentionally stupid. The monkeys are basically playing a progressively more ridiculous game of peekaboo. They cover their eyes, move their hands around, make different expressions, and then eventually the game goes a little wrong.
The last monkey looks down like:
Oops. My penis.
That's Monkey Business.
And somehow this incredibly dumb painting became part of those three nights at the hospital.
As I worked on it, some of the employees at VEG ER for Pets started watching it come together. They enjoyed it. I enjoyed making it. There were conversations and laughs surrounding this ridiculous group of monkeys while I was sitting in a place I absolutely did not want to be.
Looking at it now, that's what makes this piece important to me.
The painting itself isn't sad.
The memory behind it is.
I could have made something dark about how scared I was. Instead, apparently my brain decided that what I needed at that moment was nine monkeys playing peekaboo until one accidentally found his dick.
And honestly, I think there's something important in that.
Creating doesn't always have to directly represent whatever I'm going through. Sometimes creating does the opposite. It gives me twenty minutes where I'm thinking about whether a monkey's face looks funny instead of wondering what's going to happen to someone I love.
It gives my brain somewhere else to exist.
The people around me got to laugh at it too, which made it even better. Something I was making to distract myself became this little source of entertainment in an emergency hospital where everybody was dealing with animals and people having some of their worst days.
That's one of the reasons I love creating so much.
Joy doesn't have to wait until everything is okay.
You can be scared and still laugh.
You can be sitting beside someone you love in a hospital and still make something completely stupid.
One feeling doesn't erase the other.
When I look at Monkey Business, I see nine ridiculous monkeys.
But I also remember those three nights.
I remember my dog.
I remember the people taking care of him.
I remember being scared.
And somehow, I remember laughing too.
Sometimes creating doesn't fix what's happening around me. It just helps me get through it.
And sometimes all that takes is a monkey accidentally grabbing his penis.
2026
20 × 20 in.
Watercolor on Paper
Original / 1 of 1
I made Monkey Business while sitting in an emergency veterinary hospital for three nights after my dog suffered a traumatic brain injury.
It was terrifying.
There wasn't much I could do except be there with him, wait, hope, talk to the veterinary staff, and try not to spend every second thinking about everything that could go wrong.
So I did what I've learned to do when I need somewhere else for my brain to go.
I created something.
I started drawing monkeys.
The idea was intentionally stupid. The monkeys are basically playing a progressively more ridiculous game of peekaboo. They cover their eyes, move their hands around, make different expressions, and then eventually the game goes a little wrong.
The last monkey looks down like:
Oops. My penis.
That's Monkey Business.
And somehow this incredibly dumb painting became part of those three nights at the hospital.
As I worked on it, some of the employees at VEG ER for Pets started watching it come together. They enjoyed it. I enjoyed making it. There were conversations and laughs surrounding this ridiculous group of monkeys while I was sitting in a place I absolutely did not want to be.
Looking at it now, that's what makes this piece important to me.
The painting itself isn't sad.
The memory behind it is.
I could have made something dark about how scared I was. Instead, apparently my brain decided that what I needed at that moment was nine monkeys playing peekaboo until one accidentally found his dick.
And honestly, I think there's something important in that.
Creating doesn't always have to directly represent whatever I'm going through. Sometimes creating does the opposite. It gives me twenty minutes where I'm thinking about whether a monkey's face looks funny instead of wondering what's going to happen to someone I love.
It gives my brain somewhere else to exist.
The people around me got to laugh at it too, which made it even better. Something I was making to distract myself became this little source of entertainment in an emergency hospital where everybody was dealing with animals and people having some of their worst days.
That's one of the reasons I love creating so much.
Joy doesn't have to wait until everything is okay.
You can be scared and still laugh.
You can be sitting beside someone you love in a hospital and still make something completely stupid.
One feeling doesn't erase the other.
When I look at Monkey Business, I see nine ridiculous monkeys.
But I also remember those three nights.
I remember my dog.
I remember the people taking care of him.
I remember being scared.
And somehow, I remember laughing too.
Sometimes creating doesn't fix what's happening around me. It just helps me get through it.
And sometimes all that takes is a monkey accidentally grabbing his penis.