The Artist

I am JR Scanlan. I am the creator of various arts seen at The Collectors Gallery on Facebook, Tzuloo12 on Instagram, and at I make art inspired by dreams, memories, and nightmares. I was born September 12th 1996 with a rare mutation in the LMNA gene. I have severe muscle weakness and move around via powered-wheelchair. I had young parents who were only 18 when I was born. My father worked and went to business school to advance in his job at a medical instrument company. He always made sure to show me that he loved me and made the best out of the limited life I might have, which was very unknown since I was undiagnosed until 2016. My mom cared for me while my dad was at school or work. I didn’t always get along with my mother, but recent hardships have dissolved any resentment I once had. My mom had helped me with everything she could. She took me to my appointments, the mall, and she rarely slept because I needed help at night. Despite having amazing parents I became quite the misanthrope. My Dad was busy, my Mom and I fought everyday, and I was an outcast among my peers. I found myself thinking about things and distracting myself with games, movies, and art. I often drew creatures with the massive unharnessed imagination I had hard times expressing. My family loved my artwork, despite school teachers finding it often troubling. As a teen my hate for humanity would only grow. I didn’t even think of myself as a person despite knowing the contrary. My parents had divorced, my peers were disgusted by me, and I became somewhat narcissistic. My parents made sure not to treat me as if I was any more special than every single person was and it was this teaching that held me up from falling apart and even weirdly left my narcissism in a somewhat healthy place despite how you might think something like that might affect someone. I am extremely grateful for being raised normal, with normal problems despite the abnormal issues I was also faced with. I was angry though. Worst of all I had no one to blame. So I hated God. I really didn’t even think a god existed, but I needed an enemy so I chose an imaginary one. I would often yell at God for my problems, telling them to prove themselves. I told myself they couldn’t be real. How could god be all powerful, but also a coward? Making me disabled and weak to prevent a fair fight was the most cowardly thing a god could do I thought. In 2014 I had a surgery and it went terribly wrong. I was at the brink of death multiple times. I had blood loss, severe sepsis, snd total organ failure. I was in and out of comas. I experienced a large amount of trauma. I even met god, and he only asked that I either stayed and fought or followed him into the unknown. I stayed. I was in the hospital for 7 months. I was not able to eat or drink for over a month, which led to a unique psychosis. TPN provided me with nutrition which my mind would not perceive. I experienced the pain of starvation with the caveat of not actually being graced with death. I often woke up with my chest open nipple to nipple, and my back falling apart. One time it ripped wide open and they had to do an emergency skin graft. I traveled through dimensions and saw other worlds. I lost the ability to use my arms and was also put on a ventilator. I was not going to draw ever again, game like I used to, or talk. Such claims grew to be false. I draw with my computer with a setup I made myself. I play video games on that set up. I talk unassisted every single day. I struggled with hallucinations for awhile, but my therapy to process having ptsd fixed that. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. The shapeless voice inside my head was born as a defense mechanism. In the darkness of a uniquely dreamless coma he was there for me. Time didn't exist, but we did. We would remember things and laugh at each other's jokes. I love the void. As a person trying to finish highschool on time despite missing a year, as a person with a drive to be better, and as a person who was out and about, the void was a burden. He would question my choices, my emotions, and any sense of self I had. He was often hateful, judgemental, and abusive. I had to sacrifice my greatest friend to live this life, until we meet again. Until the day I meet the void again, I will be The Collector of memories, beauty, and maker of art.


The Collector

The Collector is as much an archaeologist, and a facilitator as they are a collector. They find, accept, and collect examples of meaning. Without The Collector, there would be no purpose, and so, there would be no art. The Collector sits upon a throne within the mind. They are not idle though. The Collector is always at work and forever inspiring The Artist and feeding The Maw.


The Maw

There is a drooling fanged pit of emptiness that inhabits the void, feeds off the mind, and hungers for meaningful sustenance. That treacherous pit is The Maw. The more you feed it the hungrier it gets. Every thought leads to another as The Maw which is feasting does so, too. Creation amongst emptiness is godly. Creation despite destruction is humanity. Creation that is never made is nothing. Feed The Maw with your philosophy, pleasure, and productivity. Endless hunger is pain, meaningless hunger is death. Pain is vital to living, and thus is life's hunger.

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