بسم الله والحمد لله والصلاة والسلام على رسول الله صلى الله عليه وسلم
In the name of Allah, all praise is due to Allah, and peace and blessings be upon the Messenger of Allah
All praise is due to Allah alone, Who guided me to Islam and then guided me to the understanding and methodology of the Salafus Saaleh (Pious Predecessors), when prior to this, my life was in shambles, chaos, self-destruction and recklessness. I lived my life without concern whether I lived or died. I was a beligerent, angry and increasingly violent alcoholic. I used to get high and gradually turned from innocuous to harder drugs, hiding my spiral from others. Throughout my childhood and into my mid-late 20s, I created violent, rage-filled artwork. Artwork depicting murder, dead children, and women. Everyone around me thought it was for the shock value, but in reality, it was a coping mechanism for the environment I was raised in, for the rage that simmered beneath the surface.
That pain took root early. Since I was a child, I grew up with the wound of being stabbed in the back by my father, who was, in my eyes, my hero. That illusion shattered at the age of five when I witnessed things I didn’t fully understand. To my innocent mind, it felt like betrayal and abandonment. It was around that time that I decided art would be the outlet I poured all my energy into. Unknowingly, it became my way of escaping the chaos and turmoil. As my family fell apart around me, I became consumed by my art, spending hours in isolation. I didn’t care about anything else.
I was a relatively well behaved, albeit angry kid. As I grew older, both my attitude and my artwork took a much darker turn, which began to worry my mom. My illustrations reflected the rage inside me. I started to ideate suicide more frequently, questioning the point of my existence. If my pops could easily betray me, how could I trust anyone else? My mom was the only person I trusted.
At the age of fourteen, I had taken my dads .22 caliber Remington rifle and decided I was going to blow my brains out that night (or at the very least, scramble them, in hindsight). Sitting in my bedroom while my mom was making dinner in the kitchen, I had already written a suicide note to my family. I stared down the barrel of the rifle, just like Laurence in the bathroom scene of Full Metal Jacket. In the middle of that moment, my mom called me into the kitchen to help with something. Her voice snapped me out of it. I went, did what she asked, and then collapsed on the couch. I turned on IFC (the Independant Film Channel), and as soon as I heard the ragtime piano and saw the big butt, I was captivated—CRUMB had just started.
I was in awe of his pen work, his outlook on life, and his passion and dedication. In that moment, I felt a renewed vigor and a fresh sense of purpose as an artist. It was the first time I had found a role model I could truly identify with: Robert Crumb, a much older white cartoonist. I watched that documentary religiously and became obsessed. To me, he embodied the archetype of what an artist should be—fearless, unconventional, and unapologetic. I took hold of that inspiration and ran with it. This was the second pivotal stage in my artistic journey. I began questioning the purpose and function of my work, scrutinizing my skills, abilities, outlook, and approach. Influenced by Crumb, I became bolder; my work evolved into a deeper exploration of my psyche and ego. I shunned superhero comics and artwork, instead drawing from my inner turmoil to create more coherent pieces that served to exorcize my demons, so to speak.
It was at the age of 17 that I started to get into more aggressive music and started going out to punk shows on Avenue C and the Lower East Side. I was still very angry and those punk shows were therapeutic. I would go into these shows, drunk. I would drink three 40s before a show—along with vodka, whiskey, whatever I could get my hands on—and jump into the mosh pits, fists flying and rage boiling over, punching people in the face just to get it out of my system. With each show, my reputation grew; people would act like, “damn, here we go” when I showed up, already tipsy ( there were a lot of people like this in the scene in the early 2000's). I lost count of how many faces I might have broken, and I was definitely kicked out of several shows. I also began to adopt a traditional skinhead mentality, embracing the identity of a working-class artist, complete with boots, braces, and a shaved head.
I was in awe of his pen work, his outlook on life, and his passion and dedication. In that moment, I felt a renewed vigor and a fresh sense of purpose as an artist. It was the first time I had found a role model I could truly identify with: Robert Crumb, a much older white cartoonist. I watched that documentary religiously and became obsessed. To me, he embodied the archetype of what an artist should be—fearless, unconventional, and unapologetic. I took hold of that inspiration and ran with it. This was the second pivotal stage in my artistic journey. I began questioning the purpose and function of my work, scrutinizing my skills, abilities, outlook, and approach. Influenced by Crumb, I became bolder; my work evolved into a deeper exploration of my psyche and ego. I shunned superhero comics and artwork, instead drawing from my inner turmoil to create more coherent pieces that served to exorcize my demons, so to speak.
It was at the age of 17 that I started to get into more aggressive music and started going out to punk shows on Avenue C and the Lower East Side. I was still very angry and those punk shows were therapeutic. I would go into these shows, drunk. I would drink three 40s before a show—along with vodka, whiskey, whatever I could get my hands on—and jump into the mosh pits, fists flying and rage boiling over, punching people in the face just to get it out of my system. With each show, my reputation grew; people would act like, “damn, here we go” when I showed up, already tipsy ( there were a lot of people like this in the scene in the early 2000's). I lost count of how many faces I might have broken, and I was definitely kicked out of several shows. I also began to adopt a traditional skinhead mentality, embracing the identity of a working-class artist, complete with boots, braces, and a shaved head.
One evening, while I was on the steps of Search & Destroy (St. Marks), I met Miguel. He saw me drawing and started talking to me. The conversation went well until we began discussing music. When I mentioned my love for street punk, metal, underground hip-hop, and blues, he said, “Oh, my roommate’s dad has the largest collection of blues records in the world!” I froze for a moment, my mind started racing. No way his roommate’s dad is Robert Crumb (I knew he had one of the world’s largest collection of blues records)... So I asked right away, “is your roommate’s dad Robert Crumb by any chance?” He replied, “yeah, how’d you know? You want to meet her?” I exclaimed, “FUCK YEAH!”
They were living in Greenpoint in a sublet apartment. Miguel, Sophie and I started hanging out a lot, going to shows and making art. We became friends. I have a lot of respect for these two artists, man. Miguel became like an big brother figure. They were both older than me by about 10 years...
My wife just called me in the middle of typing this and it disrupted the zone I was in. While talking to her, I remembered I have a photo of Sophie visiting me last year at my mom’s house, with her and her family:
Anyway, we spent a significant amount of time together, making art, playing music and hanging out. We went from Greenpoint, to C-Squat, to Casa del Sol in the Bronx, a squat run by “Bueno.” That whole experience is another story. This is when Sophie introduced me to her dad. I was invited to dinner at the Times Square Grill. Vince Giordano and his Night Hawks played live. I felt out of place, and this is where I was shown a glimpse of the Book of Genesis before publication. This was the night Crumb gave me the placemat drawing he had done that night while we sat there:
I just remembered my brief cameo (in text) in Sophie’s Belly Button Comix #2:
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| I was that Latino punk kid (lol). This is also the first time you’ll see my first name, Byron. |
I definitely digressed from what I wanted to say earlier, but these relics and artifacts represent a past that fades with each day I get closer to my grave.
The main point I wanted to convey was the transition from my broken home to my experiences growing up with my mom’s side of the family. I don’t really know my dad’s side except for my grandmother and grandfather, both of whom have passed away. From being on the streets surrounded by wingnuts, having art shows, working in a ghetto tattoo shop surrounded by OGs and other characters, to traveling and squatting (up until about four years ago). Making art for Madhappy’s Comix Newspaper, collaborated with other artists, and ultimately becoming Muslim in 2011. My journey took me to Egypt, to the Israeli prison where we lived, to Moe’s Mansion, and then getting married and moving to the UK.
There’s so much more to share, and all of this isn’t exactly in chronological order.
With time, I hope to organize my erratic life story and experiences the more I write. But for now, I want to do something else. I’ll end this nostalgic trip here. This could be a “to be continued” story for anyone interested in reading or knowing more specific details.
– Abdushakur
Sidenote:
Sidenote:
My pre-Islamic portfolio, the physical one, I destroyed in a state of heightened religious zeal during my time in Middletown, NY (2013, after returning from Oakland, CA and working on the marquee for an Immortal Technique show in NJ, and collaborating with grafitti artist Jesus Saves on stage of that same show). I tore up all of my old drawings (I mean final, complete work), no regrets. All that remains today are a handful of random digital records of sketchbook sketches and several drawings, as well as a tiny collection of scraps that I kept after that incident. My early abstract work, which informs my present practice, has either been lost during travels or given away. I am currently in a state of rebuilding that portfolio in a focused manner with an evolved perspective, إن شاء الله