GENERALLY, I HAVEN’T POSTED LONGER FORM CONTENT HERE. THAT MIGHT CHANGE WHEN I HAVE THE TIME TO SAY MORE. TODAYS, HOWEVER, IS A LONG ASS POST. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.
There’s a scene in X-Men first class that I’ve always found interesting. Raven, played by Jennifer Lawrence, is casually doing a little bench press (yea it’s weird) when Magneto, played by Michael Fassbender walks in. In case you’re unfamiliar, Raven has scaly blue skin and can shape shift to mimic any person on earth, while Magneto can basically do anything he can imagine with metal. In the scene, Raven has assumed her default identity, which means she basically just looks like Jennifer Lawrence — a white woman instead of a blue monster. They have a back and forth about her identity until Magneto decides to manipulate the weight of the plates so they float above Raven. She lets it go and it floats above her body.
“If you’re using half your concentration to look normal, you’re only half paying attention to what you’re doing,” he says before releasing the weights. Raven, caught off guard, is forced to return to her blue state in order to catch the weight before it crushes her. She looks towards Magneto, fully blue and looking slightly ashamed.
“You want society to accept you, but you can’t even accept yourself.”
I’ve seen that movie many times, and that scene stood out in an early screening, but only recently has come back into focus for me. The lesson was simple enough that a superhero movie could deliver it: the more effort spent appearing to be oneself, the less energy that can be put into actually being oneself. At the time (2013?) I loved the message, and I felt bad for those who were living a lie.
This January, that scene snapped back into my mind. It was an epiphany among many I’d been having that week after I made a big realization: I had spent twenty years unknowingly hiding my blue person beneath. More accurately, I had built an an avatar that I had began to run in place of my true self, and I lived as that avatar for so long I forgot who was beneath. I know it sounds funny, but I know it to be true because I remember the day I created it.
I was in college and not playing, not dating, not getting good grades, and I was ready to transfer. My mom essentially told me that that wasn’t an option, so I decided if I was going to stay, something had to change. It’s wild because I’ve told that story a thousand times. Once I figured out something had to change, I started fighting in practice, hitting people, kicking the ball, and essentially becoming a crazy person. I would literally get a steal in practice, take the ball out of the net, drop kick it into the stands, turn back to the head coach and scream “WHERE MY MINUTES AT?!”
It worked. I got very good at basketball very fast. So fast, that many publications dubbed me the country’s most improved player. I instantly became the life of the party. The women who used to say “don’t change” now wanted to date me. I took that confidence and started making stupid music videos. Everything could now be a parody or ironic because it wasn’t actually me. I was renting space within my own body. This behavior literally kept getting handsomely rewarded for like ten years. Bare in mind, I had no idea I was doing this. It just felt like I was crushing life. So I never thought to update the operating system. It was perfect until the day it wasn’t.
The avatar began to serve my needs less and less and this led to conflict and dissatisfaction. As that happened, I became confused and depressed. How could the world not respond to my many talents? How could people not immediately love me? My avi was built specifically to be loved by strangers, so when that waned, it hurt even more.
I began to search for the reasons why, and I went deeper and deeper within myself for answers. I read book after book, I traveled to various locations, I did a retreat with a shaman, heck, I even did a damn reality TV show in an attempt to understand myself. Each new input led to new epiphanies and eventually, on one early morning after the new year, I was able to look back and understand what was happening. I had been transforming into someone entirely new. Someone who sought feelings before visual stimuli for the first time. I started CRAVING reality TV for no other reason than the fact that it’s emotional crack. I started drinking less naturally. It’s like my mind no longer needed to escape from itself constantly. It eventually felt like I was able to stare at the avatar as if it had a physical form. It looked laughable. It looked immature and weak. It looked scared. It was easy to discard it at that point because, as I stared at myself in the mirror analyzing myself, I no longer cared about any of it. Maybe I hadn’t for a long time, but all I knew was this thing so it lingered.
The reason I tell you this now is because while all this was happening my art was also drastically affected. See, on September 15th of last year, I got the call that I would be presenting new works at the National Arts Club in NYC. During the call, the two board members speaking with me asked if I could make new pieces to present, and I said of course. I’ve never had six months to prepare for a show before, so my usual concern, rushing to meet a deadline, was completely removed. I sat down that night and mocked up a few pieces. I decided I was going to explore the shades of black and tie it in with race and everything. I would do the same subject, a friend of mine, so that the differences would be highlighted. It was going to be good.
When I finished actually painting the last piece that day in January, I looked at the first three paintings I made for the show and I had to take a seat. I realized that the art I made had directly reflected my emotional state of the previous few months. Since I had never had that feeling before, I had to take a beat to see if it was authentic. How could I add meaning to something already complete? The longer I studied my work, the more clear it was that the emotion was there, hiding from me.
The first one I made was “WHITE BLACK.” When I created it, the idea was that within us is the struggle with whiteness. What I saw when I was done was a painting that felt hollow. It’s like all the feeling has been removed and what remains in my shell. When I look at it today, its maybe the saddest painting I’ve ever done. It’s the “tin man” of paintings.
Next was “GREY BLACK” which I created in early December after returning from Basel. The original idea was to show the conflicting nature of trying to be both white and black at the same time. When I revisited it, it again reminded me of my emotions at the time I painted it. It’s rough, and its conflict. Grey, the most middle color is an emotional placeholder. I tried to hold on to my past and it hurt. I spent most of this month crying and not knowing why. It was at this time that I was the most depressed and confused. Nothing felt easy, and I actually spent time lamenting to friends that everything I do is always the hardest version. I wondered when anything was going to feel easy. The rough texture of the work reflects that.
“BLACK BLACK” was supposed to show just how socially indigestible I would be if I went fully “black.” When I look at it now, it looks like death. And it is. My ego died somewhere along the way when I was making it. There was no longer a need for color, theatrics, or appeasement. It was as raw as I’ve ever felt, because I was finally forcing myself to let go of my previous motivations. Admittedly, I don’t have all my motivations re-aligned yet, but I know my previous motivations only served the avatar, not me.
It was after these three that I decided to go ahead and paint “NEON BLACK.” I had the original design from September but I hated it when I saw it again. It felt juvenile and bright for no reason. I edited the design and painted it that week, and what came was a painting that combines all the other ones. It’s rough, but smooth. It’s black and white but its colorful. I am all the things at once and the painting reflects that. It may be the closest thing to a self portrait that I’ve ever done.
I presented all of this in New York to the folks at NAC. The video tech didnt work day of, so I told that story to a room full of strangers with no props and no mic and it was as freeing as anything I’ve ever done. What I didn’t foresee was that by doing the same subject for each painting, the emotional differences would shine much more as well. It’s like my subconscious was working overdrive.
The next day, I changed my website from rodbensonart.com to zsorryon.com. I love my name, but Rod Benson isn’t really it. It’s Rodrique Zsorryon Benson and “Rod” was something teachers and coaches changed it to so they could digest it better. Wild that that was basically decided when I was six. Still, my mom has never called me Rod. My closest friends have always called me Rodrique. I realized that Rod Benson is the avatar and always has been. So, going forward, my art, which is made from a place no one else can edit, will fall under the ZSORRYON (sj-air-ee-awn) label and all the other stuff you know me for will come from Rod Benson. Maybe it’s confusing, but it’s just where I’m at. Z is for me.
Thanks for coming to my ted talk.
Z
Loving the evolution. Keep going.
Respect