Written by Ava Dennis
The third installment of the Jailbreak Series is, well, late. As you will read, the challenges of this project often result in an "artist's block" of sorts -one that lasted longer than usual this time around. Regardless, we are back, and could not be happier to share the third collaboration with you all. The song was Ava's choice this round, and Nothingman by Pearl Jam was selected. Chad and Ava reflected on the song before Chad began the first part of the painting, particularly its strong sense of latent loneliness, and the range of emotion and meaning born out of from the overall question that Eddie Vedder, lead singer of Pearl Jam, poses: Isn't it something, Nothingman? Isn't it something?
When running the song by Gustav, Ava was told of its odd resonance in connection to this project being originally catalyzed by Gustav and Chad's shared love of Chris Cornell. (See Installment 1; Like A Stone).
"I’m reminded of a dream I had after Chris Cornell’s death. In the dream I was sitting around a living room playing music with some others. As we talked of what to play next, I started to talk about Chris and how well I knew and loved him, leading into the song I wanted to play. Then I nodded to the guy across from me, realizing now who it was and said, “I guess you probably knew him pretty well yourself.” It was Eddie Vedder. -Gustav
In the process of writing this blog, collecting others' interpretations, outside of the Jailbreak artists, felt important. Eddie Vedder himself, in a 1994 interview, described the song's meaning being largely around the loss of love, namely that in its presence there is a felt fierceness to not lose it, for when you do, "you are left with less than nothing." In the same interview, speaking on his soon-to-be wife, Beth Liebling, he is quoted, "...I just know that without her, I'd be a kite without a string, a nothing man." On various internet threads you can find Pearl Jam fans raving about their love for this song, especially the beauty of its lyrics, however also a number of personal stories. It seems as though this song has accompanied many people through unforgettable moments or people in their lifetimes. As sung, "he who forgets is destined to remember."
One of the goals of this project is to radiate the healing experienced through it, to share what it means to truly lean in, and it is our hope to reach some of those people who have shared their stories of "Nothingman" by sharing our own story with the song.
Gustav's words and thoughts on "Nothingman," forever rooting our work and project to an unrelenting journey towards healing.
Prior to painting, after alerting Gustav of what the next song choice will be, Ava and Chad listened to Pearl Jam's version over the phone. The morning prior, Ava had played piano for Chad and then shared a tearful conversation inspired by the intimate relationship humans have with music, especially those who produce it themselves. The next day, in the exact same spot, they reflected on why the "Nothingman" was chosen and what it means -if one could assign one word to describe the song, what would it be? Chad was jotting down notes to reference when he started the t-shirt. Ava spoke about the feeling of being wrong in how we define our own experience of nothingness; that despite the devastating feeling of perceiving the existence of "nothing," there is always, always an inevitable presence of something. Chad spoke of loneliness.
Chad left a large portion of the t-shirt blank when he kicked off the painting, in hopes that it would challenge Ava to fill the remainder of the canvas. He had painted again in inspiration of his beloved Roberto Ferri, namely his work Sonno di Rugiada, translating to Sleep of Dew. The painting pictures a man and a woman; as he sits, curled inwards, she kneels behind him, enveloping her arms around his figure. An abstracted halo emerges from his bowed head, while her cheek drops to his shoulder. Her head also emanates a suggested halo, represented with a faint glow of light. Chad completed the figures entirely out of ink and colored pencil. The only portion actually painted is the deep red found in his take on the abstracted halo.
Sonno di Rugiada, Roberto Ferri, Oil on canvas.
Ava began her process of finishing the painting by hanging it up on the wall and staring at it, for weeks. Intimidated by the amount of blank space and the inspiration it necessitated, it hung untouched for a while. On the phone with Chad, after a couple weeks of him pestering for it to be done, he told her to forget about it, completely, for a week. No thinking or stressing about the shirt for a week, and then the following week, they could brainstorm together. Ava agreed, relieved, looked at the painting, and was struck with an idea of what to paint.
To Chad's frustration, she didn't even attempt to fill the space. There was no need; completing the painting never meant filling space. It meant adding to the narrative, pushing the emotive nature of the piece, and to imbue it with the touch of her hand. The addition of arrows piercing the woman's back, painted from ink and red and white acrylic, did what Ava intended to do. The arrows, meek in presence, did change the narrative, taking the piece from one of comfort, presence, and connected thought to one of intention, of sacrifice, of severity. That fact didn't deter Chad's frustration in being unsuccessful in his attempt to push Ava to fill an expanse of blank canvas, though he did admit that he loves the end result.
After a couple days, on his birthday, Chad called and took back his teasing. As always, the collaboration and experience of creating a completed painting through two pairs of hands was a distinct and powerful mechanism for connection.
Nothingman, Chad Merrill and Ava Dennis.
Nothingman, detail. Chad Merrill and Ava Dennis.
The poem for "Nothingman" was a home stretch ordeal this time around, and required nothing short of every bit of inspiration left over from the painting. Well after midnight, about 45 plays in to both Pearl Jam and Gustav's versions of the song, and a good bit of desperation later, it was written.
"Nothingman" by Ava Dennis
The grandness in an absolute—
The cliff, or perhaps the fall.
Grayness, or greatness.
A chill shivering bone,
shuddering to satisfaction.
There is nothing beyond precipice,
only the promise of nothing,
Or perhaps, everything,
you have held your breath for.
Gustav could not have captured these swarming ideas more perfectly in his cover. As always, it's a knockout. Listen hungrily.
This was a new interpretation of what it meant to push and pull expectations and pressures of the project. While sometimes our minds can stay on the one-track of "more is more," sometimes it simply is what it is. The story is the story: sometimes quiet, sometimes screaming, sometimes a little bit of both. When it came to the painting, "Nothingman" was visualized through the interruption of loneliness, of feeling unrooted, thrown, and stripped down to less than nothing, and instead leaned into the experience of being held and protected through it, even if we may be too far in the throws to realize. Most importantly, it attempts to say that there is always something between ourselves and the arrows at our back, and especially so in the face of perceived nothingness. We just must be alive and awake enough to greet it.
Next month, the goal is to not freeze in the midst of creating, though it seems as though pushing through roadblocks is potentially, frustratingly, part of the point. Nonetheless, we are thrilled that the next installment involves a new influence in the collaboration, though it remains a surprise to that person. Stay tuned.
Until next time,
The Jailbreak Artists: Chad, Gustav, and Ava
Nothingman hanging to dry in front of a wall of Chad's paintings, one continuously curated by him and his most recent works.
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