On October 16th according to the fire Marshall, an electrical fire caused by a short circuit above the ceiling within the Know No Truth bathroom resulted in a 2 alarm fire which totaled my gallery, and damaged the apartments above it causing almost 1 million dollars in damage.

I was there when the fire suddenly erupted, and never in my life have I ever been surrounded by so much smoke, so thick that I couldn't see my own hands in front of me. I tried in folly to combat the fire as best as I could with a fire extinguisher till I realized I would die from smoke inhalation if I didn't escape. With aching lungs, I joined everyone on the sidewalk to watch helplessly. I saw thick smoke crash against my front windows like a wave of angry, dirty water, and an orange glow began to intensify behind it. I heard glass shattering. I looked down at my self, saw I was covered in dust from the smoke, and I was shaking.

It was an incredibly tragic loss for me and everyone in that building. Everywhere I go still smells like ashes. But from those ashes, I will raise again and I will rebuild. The Know No Truth Gallery will return in a few months after the dust has settled both literally and metaphorically. I have lost paintings I will never get back, a space I spent countless hours sculpting into something special, but all the experience and skills I have learned from everything remains with me.

Know No Truth will return, and will like a raising Phoenix.

My heart goes out to all the people in the above floors who can't go home yet, and to Piattini who can't open for business yet.

I want to thank the Boston fire department for bravely fighting the inferno, and stopping a fire that could of been much worse. I am grateful to the universe no one was injured. This is a difficult time undoubtedly, but when I was finally allowed in to see the wreckage, among the few things left intact was the framed picture attached below. It was singed, but it seems appropriate that way. It was the sign i placed by the exit, so it would be the last thing a person would see as they left the gallery.

I do have a lot work ahead of me, but I care too much to stop now.

The Stupid, Odd Sale Going On.

When we produce shirts, we make them in many different sizes
to accommodate people of all ages, shapes, and sizes.
Each design seems to sell out of a different, certain sizes first.
It's interesting.

Soon, you're left with only a few
smalls and extra larges of shirt A,
and mediums and larges of shirt B.
So to clear out the rest remaining odd shirts,
here comes The Odd Ones sale

Obviously shirts limited in number,
so get them when you can.
Use the coupon code
and get a random thing I grab off my desk
with every order now till 9/30/16.

The Stupid Time Lapse Paintings I Made.

Landon Richmond time lapse painting to the music of Modest Mouse's song Worms Vs Birds, from the album Sad Sappy Sucker. See more at www.knownotruth.com
This painting was a struggle. There was no plan for this piece, I just went at it. Despite no real vision, every result produced by my brush strokes did not feel like the one I was looking for. I felt like I was bumping into person after person stumbling through a haze looking for something, or someone I couldn't even visualize.

The Stupid Story of When I Sleep Walked the Night Before Opening a Gallery.

In shock on a stretcher in the emergency room

In shock on a stretcher in the emergency room

This was me exactly a year ago. I was in the emergency room after a sleeping walking accident, which had me face plant into a marble shelf. I was in the worst pain of my life with two shattered teeth, and laceration on my lip that required 17 stitches. Best of all, the grand opening of the KnowNoTruth gallery was happening the following day.

I'm glad it happened to be honest. As I was in the ambulance, and the shock was wearing off I became more aware of my situation as I felt tooth fragments dangling in the back of my throat. I realized no matter what I thought or felt, nothing was going to change the situation I was in. No matter how mad or upset I could get, nothing was going to change what happened. So right then and there I decided I would change how I felt about it, because that was in my control. I decided it was funny, but more importantly I saw it as a test to see if I had what it takes.

I opened the gallery the next day and hosted the grand opening party even though I had to drink my food through a straw. I saw the whole ordeal as a test, and I got through it. Now here I am a year later, and I still hold on to the lesson I learned: You can't change the facts, but you can change how you feel about them.

After surgery and ready for action  

After surgery and ready for action


My Stupid Story About Quitting Art School.

Me and school never got along. It wasn't because I was against learning, or against the subject matters being taught. I found it all to be incredibly fascinating. What got to me where the people. I'm damn weird, and have always been damn weird. To anyone else who can relate with that, then they can probably relate with how damn weird it made going to school, and growing up in general.



When I finally made it to college it was a clusterfuck, and it didn't last long. I took the art foundation classes, and found myself very uncomfortable in the art school environment. I didn't much get along with the teachers or students, and found the experience to be overall pretty shitty. I didn't have many factors going in my favor when I started college either. I had broken up with my first serious girlfriend onemonth before, and was handed a school schedule that really left me little time for sleep.

All the factors of stress: the heartbreak, pressure to do good, fit in, and find time to sleep with all the homework assigned resulted in me getting very sick.

I ended up with serve bronchitis. I bruised my ribs from coughing so much, and the doctor I saw (some guy fresh out of med school) refused to give me antibiotics. I got behind in my school work, but in my youthful ideals thought it was so important to act stoic, and not say a word of my plight to anyone.

My art projects always were graded as barely passing, or just had written in read ink "DO IT AGAIN." My lines weren't straight enough. My edges weren't clean enough, and there were too many fingerprints. It really got to me, and made each pencil stroke seem like snipping bomb wires, unsure which mistake would kill me.

Still I worked hard, I really did.

Then one day one, as I walked into my 2d foundation class, my professor pulled me aside. She was, in my opinion, an art elitist who had a hair cut/dye job to make her look like a skunk, and art work that really made no sense despite her elitist claims it did. (I promise I am not trying to be bitter when I explain her to you)

So she pulled me aside, sighed, and said, "Your the worst student I've ever had. You're not doing any of the projects right, and I'm gonna have to fail you."

So here I was, hiding as best as I could how under slept, heartbroken, and sick I was; while working the best as I could, just to be told this. I just stared at her a moment, then walked out of the class room. I walked down the school corridors as the dead eyes from paintings students hung up followed me.

I lead myself into the men's bathroom, went into the stall, closed the door, fell back onto the seat, and then just let it all out. I had an opening the flood gates type cry, I really did. I let it out for a couple minutes. No one was in the bathroom, I could only hear that faint, high pitched buzz from the florescent lights above. When I finally felt like I had let it all out, I looked up with my eyes red and itchy, and saw written in cursive on the stall door in front of me:

"Everything will be ok."

I looked at it a moment, and blinked a couple times. Then I just gazed upon it, and everything in that moment made sense. I stood up, wiped my face, opened the door, and left college forever.

That was truly when my art career began.
Listen, let nothing stop you.