In the wacky circus that is my life, this tale emerges as a high wire act, a tightrope walk of sheer stubbornness, with a dash of naivete, mixed with a little grit. Picture this: once a high school linebacker (captain of the defensive team, no biggie), I gracefully pirouetted into the world of massage therapy. A carefully choreographed move to dodge the dreaded fate of slinging drinks or waiting tables. Or, heaven forbid, a desk job (ugh). I needed something to juggle while navigating the labyrinthine halls of academia.
Fast forward through a somewhat blurry six-year epic of good times and higher learning. Pit stops in Santa Barbara, San Diego, and Santa Monica paved the way to my ultimate destination – UCLA. The journey was no cakewalk; two rejections from UCLA's Studio Arts program led me to a quasi-"grad program" at Santa Monica City College. After surviving brutal painting critiques and a heartbreakingly honest talk from my then-professors about my lackluster painting skills (tears were shed, not gonna lie), I found myself on the brink of quitting. Also my girlfriend of 4 years was begging for more attention which I didn't have time to give.
But, lo and behold, I persevered. Out went the girlfriend, in came a laser focus on sculptural art. Why? Well, the bar for sculpture is lower than a limbo contest at first glance in the world of conceptual Post-Post-Modern art. Just a tidbit of advice for fellow wanderers on a similar path.
The gamble paid off. That acceptance letter to UC colleges became my lifeline. "UCLA or bust," I declared. Sculpture took the spotlight in my portfolio, and the third time was the charm— I was accepted to UCLA in 2006 and graduated in 2008! Since then, I've fine-tuned my illustrative painting skills, with my artwork gracing spaces in LA, Palm Springs, and the SF Bay Area. My current art headquarters? The infamous 111 Minna Gallery in downtown San Francisco, with honorable mentions at Mirus Gallery and the Mom and Pop Shop of Pt Richmond.
Now in my 40s, the saga continues. The sun rises and sets on the Bay, world leaders play chess with our fate as they prepare for our imminent demise, and yet, here we are, fueled by caffeine, legal cannabis, and misguided optimism, chasing our version of happiness. The next show beckons, and the burning question lingers—who will be the first to bid on a 'Nate Geare' at auction? And just how much are they willing to throw down?"
