The House

I love the concept of an alternative gallery space. 

When I visited the Storehouse dispensary in Mount Washington back in March, I was inspired to see some art on the walls by several local artists. It wasn't always like this—art on the walls—but I was stoked about the new direction. Paintings and digital illustrations, very cool, but I didn't notice any photography. This felt like an opportunity, so I decided to track down the manager to see if they'd be interested in supporting a Woodberry photographer.

I had the perfect photo in mind, a mash-up of two images that I captured in the neighborhood of Locust Point and wrote about here. I thought the work—if displayed in a sweet maple frame—would compliment the rainbow signage in the lobby, which also had a stylish wood frame. And the thin white line separating my two photos would play nicely with the horizontal lines that underscored the sativa, the hybrid and the indica, which are varying strains of the cannabis flower. And for bonus points, a mash-up and a hybrid are kinda the same thing, the hybrid being a blend of sativa and indica.

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Hybrid | Baltimore, MD | 2023

The manager was excited, I was excited, everybody was excited. I only had one deadline to meet; make sure the mash-up was hanging in the lobby by July 1st, which was the first day recreational cannabis would be legal in Maryland.

Done. We hung that badboy on June 1st. 

The mash-up will live in The House indefinitely, or until it sells, or until I decide to replace it with something new. It's basically an ALT exhibition that I can have fun with, keep it funky, mix it up. 

There is a t-shirt you can buy at Atomic Books in Hampden that says, "Baltimore: Actually I like it." I'm digging that. But maybe an ALT tee would go something like, "Be: Art, Love & Trees."

Find your happy home.

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Ten Marches Since My Last Confession

When you've known someone for 37 years you develop a shorthand.

This is a portrait of my dear friend, Doug Angleton, in a series of March texts. 

March 2, 2012 

Michael: JAH!
Doug: Rasta fari

Doug Angleton | Brooklyn, NY | 2010

March 2, 2013

Doug: Are you doing alright today bubbi?
Michael: Nothing but good feels.
Doug: I figured as much
Doug: Yay

March 28, 2014

Michael: Bodhisattva, I love you! I can barely wait to see you on Sunday to get our feel on!
Doug: Yes I am pissing on the floor like little chihuahua my tail is wagging so fast

Doug Angleton & Michael Wiggins | New York, NY | 2014

March 3, 2015

Michael: "My barn having burned down I can now see the moon," said Mizuta Masahide.
Doug: Moon vs barn  Moon won
Doug: Everyone's a winner step right up bargains galore

March 17, 2016

Michael: Jah!
Doug: Him make the herbe for Man

Vacuum Flowers by Doug Angleton | 2011 (Oil on canvas, 4 x 6’)

March 1, 2017

Michael: Thinking of you. LA circa 1988.
Doug: Just before I went to Baltimore
Doug: Thirty years, old buddy

Doug Angleton | Los Angeles, CA | 1988

March 11, 2018

Doug: Happy Sunday mon ami
Doug: I was tripping on acid
Michael: Right on!! I was just thinking about the Legend of Doug. And how cool it is that you worked in the Flat Iron building in NYC. What a beautiful feather in your crown chakra head piece. Life is good!
Doug: Yes indeed

Doug Angleton | New York, NY | 2013

March 14, 2019

Michael: We all snowflakes. Ain’t that right, Sensei?!
Doug: True dat
Doug: All together we are the snowfall, our history an avalanche
Doug: When we melt in the sun of wisdom we run together to form the rivers and oceans
Doug: Which is what we were in the first place round and round

Doug Angleton | Rutherford, NJ | 2010

March 21, 2020

Michael: You doing ok Mr Angleton?
Doug: Well enough Wig

March 10, 2021

Michael: Wish we was playing Spades right now. Outside, on a picnic bench.
Doug: O what joy

Mr. Angleton died from complications of diabetes on March 11, 2021.

I will truly miss him.

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Nothing but Good Feelings

Look outside, what do you see? Nothing but good feelings.

I struggle with the dark passenger. It's true. Even on the best days. But I was raised in Los Angeles in the 70s, a time when booze was lemonade, ashtrays were in airplanes, and getting roasted by the sun was far out. I knew I was moody. But we never talked about mental health when we passed the potatoes. I loved climbing on rocks and running real fast, but I didn’t realize that both of those things helped me avoid confrontation, you know, with people. I never really contemplated why I was an introvert. In fact, introvert? Not in my vocabulary. I didn't know what an alcoholic was. Cancer? I'm a kid, I am invincible. We didn't talk about why people died. They were just no longer around. I didn't comprehend that being alone was the happiest part of my life. The other parts were terrifying.

I'm not the best friend. Not the best son. Not the best coworker. Not the best partner. But I somehow manage to find my way. It's as though I have an extra compassionate gene, like the hugest C gene ever. That's what I tell myself anyhow. I justify being not the best on one hand with being the absolute best on the other. And I rely on this compassion to offset the melancholy.

It's taken me decades to deconstruct the dark side. Yes, therapy might have been quicker, but in my yoot, sports were better. I still love sports but I also love reading and pattern recognition and awareness. I've learned to self-medicate with herbs and a yoga mat. Nothing has really changed in regards to my good feelings. They are extraordinary. And nothing has changed with the darkness. I can name it now and I am prepared. I prepare with a knowing that love is always on the other side.

Look outside what do you see?

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