This painting is based on a photograph that I took during my December embed. As our patrol was leaving the Afghan Police Station west of F.O.B. Payne, I looked up and took notice of the Afghan peering down at me with his rifle by his feet. I would be lying if I said that the inherent danger of him turning his weapon on me didn't cross my mind in those few seconds leaving the base. As an embedded artist, I had no weapon. I was at the mercy of the man looking down at me and the Marines covering my six.

These Walls, Acrylic in 24"x36" canvas stretched on plywood

I began the project a week ago after my mentors Mike Fay and Victor Juhasz came to town to accompany me in a handful of panel talks regarding The Joe Bonham Project. Mike gave me pointers on stretching and pretreating raw canvas, and I took notes. Once they left, I went to work.

This was my second ever acrylic painting with my first being Remembering Fallujah, who I gave to Jon Garrigues of Salisbury, NC, the subject of the piece. Now that school is winding to a close, I plan to take a week long break from art and breathe.

Edit:

The Thomason Award that Lt. Col. Mike Corrado was kind enough to accept on my behalf at the National Museum of the Marine Corps.

Also, my awesome illustration professor Jamie Franki nominated me for the "Rising Star" award for the BFA in illustration. Great but tiring month.

For the Psychological Body project, our professor asked us to link a connection between the body and mind. We were also told to stretch beyond of our comfort zones and to explore mediums that we were unfamiliar with. I chose to paint with acrylic on canvas.

Remembering Fallujah, Acrylic on 18"x15" canvas

As a combat veteran myself, I know what it's like to live in a world where people simply "don't get it". I find it hard to storytell my wartime experiences to fellow classmates for the sheer fact that most are 7-10 years younger than me and are unfamiliar with the warrior culture. For this project, I elected to document the experiences of a local OEF/OIF veteran—how he or she copes with life after war and their adjustment into the civilian sector.

Through facebook, I came in contact with SSgt. John Garrigues, a Marine Reservist out of Kannapolis, NC. I spent my initial visit at his parent's house up the road in Salisbury, where we sat around bullshitting, drinking coffee and smoking cigars. John is a Washington Capitals fan with a penchant for good cigars. The first thirty minutes were consumed with getting to know one another.

As the converstion resumed, I did a couple sketches and snapped a few photos. John was a Combat Engineer attached to an infantry battalion during the second battle of Fallujah, or more famously known as Operation Phantom Fury, in 2004. He talked about the furocious street battles, the shrapnel he took from an enemy hand grenade, and the two friends that were killed in action. John keeps pictures of his lost comrads in his wallet, often reminding his three little girls of their sacrifices.

Having that veteran-on-veteran dialogue made it easier to share past experiences that would otherwise be deemed as taboo and foreign to the other 99%. Most college kids today are out of touch with the major battles that our G.I.s faught in throughout the last 12 years. The average 20 year old in my art department couldn't even tell you what Fallujah was. Growing up in the 80's and 90's, I knew about Beruit, Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm, Somalia, Bosnia, Haiti, Kosovo, etc.

This divide in modern culture segregates our newest war veterans from the general population. I don't blame the kids, I blame the parents and their high school history teachers.

__________________________________________________ 

My latest assignment, Urban Traces, required us to venture into the city of Charlotte and to, well, trace something urban back to its origin. My intial plan was to document the homeless. However, after spending a few hours at the local soup kitchen, it dawned on me that those waiting in line were probably proud people who would detest the idea of having their picture taken. Unless I was willing to dedicate several months of my time building sincere relationships with these people (my project deadline was in 2 weeks), there was no way this was going to work.

I chose to "shoot from the hip" instead, walking through the city with my camera and sketchbook hoping to find somebody, something, anything interesting to record. I stumbled upon an elderly man named Sal, 64, who was sitting on a bench outside of a Starbucks at the intersection of Tryon and E. Trade. 

Sal, Gouache on 30"x22" Arches Watercolor paper

Sal is short for something Italian, so says the bearded man reeking of alcohol. I asked Sal if he was a veteran, given that he was wearing old military trousers. He replied no and continued to stare off into space. After about 10 seconds, I asked if it was cool that I sit with him. He said yes and made room on the bench. About a minute later, we began to make small talk. My initial assessment of Sal was that he was homeless; however, there was more to the label than meets the eye.

Originally from Rochester, NY, the grungy looking man migrated to Charlotte 3 years ago after retiring as a film technician. Sal lost his wife from breast cancer 5 years ago and says he drinks to "get away from it all". Several times during our conversation, he would turn and look in all directions, then at me and announce how much he hates the homeless. I found this very ironic considering he fits the physical makeup of one.

We talked about sports, the war, his kids and grand kids, his love for wildlife and riding Harleys. I asked for his permission to photograph him, and he obliged. As he was polishing off the contents in his water bottle, I asked if he would like another water from my backpack. He leaned over and slurred, "This ain't water, if you know what I mean".

Two hours had past and I had to leave. I shook his hand, thanked him for his time, and left. There are two urban traces: his story, and the story others generate upon first glance.

Here's what I've been up to thus far:

Press, prismacolor pencil on 17"x14" bristol board.

Okay, so this piece isn't from the current semester, it's from last. This was supposed to be one of a three piece series for my final project in Drawing I. I emphasize supposed to for the fact that I never finished the assignment and this was all that I did. The situation: I was leaving for my Afghan embed a week before final exams so, for me, the project was due at a much earlier date. My grade took a minor hit but, in all fairness, I failed to finish it on time. My professor held onto the piece during winter break, which is why I haven't posted this gem until now. This was my first time working in colored pencil, and I thank my illustration professor, Jamie Franki, for the great advice on how to handle the medium.

Note: In case you're wondering, this is a drawing of the body armor that I wore while deployed as a combat artist with 3rd Bn 9th Marines.

Embed work

Turret Gunner (in-progress), graphite/charcoal on 19"x25" bristol board.

I've been working on this fella since January. School and work eats up most of my time, so this beautiful work-in-progress keeps getting shoved to the side. I was able to gain a little bit of ground during spring break. My aim is to complete this before the start of summer semester.

This drawing is based on a photo taken by me of my MRAP turret gunner, LCpl. Hallbeck, while on a mounted patrol in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

Studio work

Nowzad, graphite on 19"x24" bristol board.

Our first project in Drawing II class was called Rock, Paper, Scissors. The objective was to juxtapose three objects of our choice to where one dominated the other, etc. I took more of an illustrative approach, as my drawing does more than simply stir debate over which overpowers the other. Not only does the piece reenact an actual event that took place during my 2009 deployment to Afghanistan, it commemorates a fallen hero who sacrificed life and limb for his fellow Marines. 

The knight represents Corporal Michael Ouellette, a squad leader in L Co. 3/8, the dice symbolizes fate, and the notebook paper depicts the field of battle. I chose to make the knight dominant because the story is centered around his actions. I didn't witness what had happened that fateful day; however, I did hear about it from those who bore witness to the event in question. 

After losing both legs to an improvised explosive device, Cpl. Ouellete continued to lead his squad against an aggressive and well prepared Taliban ambush. Over the radio, he called in his own medical evacuation and directed fire on maneuvering enemy forces. It was after repelling the assault that Cpl. Ouellette had succumbed to his wounds. For his actions, he was posthoumously awarded the Navy Cross, America's second highest honor for battlefield heroism. Read his citation here.

 Day 1 of 74, gouache on 15"x22" on stonehenge paper.

Our third assignment from Drawing II (second assignment not posted) was called Ironic Environment. In this project, we were supposed to do research on and, if possible, visit a specific place and to draw, paint, or photo collage together irony in that environment. I chose Afghanistan for obvious reasons, and the irony represented was about the choice of camoflauge for said environment. You can't see the irony here because I cropped the other picture out of the diptych (I didn't really like it). The other painting is of Marines patrolling through a heavily vegitated area in a location very close to the one above. Overall, it's about the incongruity of the assumed versus what's real.

In addition to meeting the basic needs of the assignment, I chose this painting to commemorate another fallen warfighter. This piece is based on a photo that I took during my 2004 deployment to Afghanistan with BLT 1/6. We had just landed via C-47 Army Chinook helicopter in a small village north of Kandahar. The Marine pictured was my assistant Team Leader, Cpl. Justus Bartelt. Six years later, SSgt. Justus Bartelt with 2/6 was tragically killed by an Improvised Explosive Device during combat operations in Marjah, Afghanistan. More about SSgt. Justus Bartelt.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., digital drawing.

Aside from pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration, I'm also seeking a minor in Art Education K-12. Recently, we were assigned to research and present to the class topics found in certain time periods thoughout the history of Art Ed. The topics assigned to me were Arts Propel and Goals 2000: Educate America Act. The presentation had to include key events and major players of that time. I tried my hand at some digital drawing with my wacom tablet. It's apparent that I still have a lot of room for improvement. I had fun nonetheless.

President Bill Clinton, digital drawing.

 Dr. Richard Deasy, Director Arts Ed. Partnership, Digital Drawing.

Col. John W. Thomason, Jr. Award

I found this letter in my in-box a few weeks ago:

The Marine Corps Heritage Foundation has selected me to receive the 2013 Col. John W. Thomason, Jr. Award for my recent embed as a combat artist and for my participation in The Joe Bonham Project. In additon to me receiving the award, the Marine Corps Heritage Foundation had selected fellow war artist and Joe Bonham Project founder, Michael Fay, to received the 2013 Col. Robert Debs Heinl Jr Award for featured writing. He is being recognized for his NY Times illustrated series titled Still in the Fight.  Another one of our Joe Bonham Artists, Victor Juhasz, also received an award. The Society of Illustrators awarded him the prestigous Gold Medal for his 2011 embed as a war artist with an Army medivac unit in Afghanistan.

UNC Charlotte public relations has been really good to me. Meg Whalen, PR director for the School of Arts & Architecture, had set me up with an on-camera interview with Carolina News 14 In-Depth to talk about my award.

Link

Anchor Rob Boisvert did a great job pacing the interview, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The downside of Carolina News 14 is that you need to have a Time Warner Cable account to watch any of their videos, etc. I was going to buy myself a copy of the program, but it costs $45. Besides, even if I did buy it, their terms & conditions states that I cannot post a link to it anywhere online, which defeats the purpose of me purchasing it in the first place. No biggie, I'm just happy to have had my 4 minutes of fame.

PR director Meg Whalen had also hooked me up with the Charlotte Observer, and their Living section will be running a story about my combat art this Sunday, March 17th. I did the interview with reporter Barbara Schreiber about a month ago, followed by a quick photo shoot with one of their photographers in the Rowe Arts Building on campus. 

Sensoria

Lastly, Central Piedmont Community College in Downtown Charlotte will be hosting our next Joe Bonham Project exhibit during Sensoria--the celebration of the arts from April 15-23. I'm scheduled to give a lecture about the project at CPCC on the 17th.

CPCC talk

Exhibit details

Myself, along with the other Joe Bonham Project artists Fay, Juhasz, and Fisher, will be speaking to UNCC students in the Rowe Arts recital hall on April 22nd from 12:30-2pm.

P.S.

For those who donated to my embed campaign last fall and are waiting on their prints, they're coming. I meant to ship them off earlier in the month, but it's looking more and more like the beginning of April. My appologies, and thanks for your patience! 

Continued from pt6 

Due to stormy weather up ahead, and with the foresight of knowing that I MUST make it back to Camp Leatherneck by the 18th for my flight out to Kabul, I decided to cut my losses and fly back on the 16th instead. Having done so, I mitigated the risk of getting left behind in a F.O.B. and ultimately missing my commercial flight back to the United States on the 21st. Luckly, I was able to Space-A with the 3/9 Weapons Co. XO and Cpl. Lenzo on an old Russian transport helicopter back to Leatherneck. The next few days were spent alone in the media tent scanning through the photos on my camera and reviewing previous journal entries. While in transient, I met a pair of jounalists from the Washington Post. The two live in a safe house in Kabul where Kevin, a staff writer, and his friend Lorenzo, an Italian freelance photographer were tasked with piecing together a story about MRAP's.

We flew back to Kabul on the 18th and were picked up by the same Public Affairs Officer (PAO) outside the airfield. Our first stop was at the front gate, where Kevin and Lorenzo were dropped off and greeted by their ride back to the city. I was then sent to the transient barracks where I was housed at the start of the embed. Getting ready for the trip home, I purchased a jacket and some souveniers from the bazaar, had my hair cut and face shaved by an elderly Afghan man on base, and shipped my body armor back to Mike Fay (the rightful owner). I felt like a new man.

I was escorted off base on the 21st where I met my new driver outside the gate. Prompt and on time, at 1430 on the dot, was Fazel holding a sign that read my name. Fazel is an Afghan local who used to serve as an interpreter for the U.S. Army in Kandahar. He receives daily death threats from the Taliban, both by phone and by flyer. During the cab ride to Kabul International Airport, I was able to capture part of our conversation with my audio recorder. For several years now, Fazel and those just like him have been fighting to get out of harms way and into the U.S. Everyday is a struggle for survival, and after many years of putting their lives on the line for America, our country has decided to leave them high and dry and left to die. This Washington Post article talks about just that, and at the bottom of the blog entry is my recorded segment with Fazel. Read the article and listen to the recording. Pass this around.

Moving on . . .

After getting frisked 10 different times by Afghan Police sentries, I was able to check my bag and get on the bird to Dubai and then back home here in Charlotte, NC.

Turret Gunner, work-in-progress, Graphite/Charcoal on 24"x19" bristol.

Since I've been home, I've started a piece called Turret Gunner. This drawing is based off of a photo that I took of LCpl. Hallbeck, my MRAP gunner. Due to a heavy school schedule, I have no clue when this will get finished. Aside from art making, I've been busy debriefing my experiences with several radio and newspaper interviews, to include another interview with Dick Gordon on The Story: Sketching the drawdown in Afghanistan; with Mike Collins on Charlotte Talks: Combat Artist Rob Bates; and a Charlotte Observer article that will go into print sometime next week.

The embed was a success. I think I've seen and heard all that I needed in order to compose an accurate understanding of what is happening there. Afghanistan is in shambles and there is no fixing the damage that has been done. Yes, the country is safer now than it was 12 years ago---but that's only because of our presence. Believe me when I say:

It's going to get a lot worse once we are gone.

Click on AUDIO LINK BELOW: 

Friday, December 14, 2012 @ 2020
Combat Outpost Castle, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan
Continued from pt5 . . .

A Marine turret gunner mounting up for patrol out of FOB Payne. 

Departure from Payne was at 1330 and we arrived at COP Castle just 45 minutes later. The small base is called Castle because, well, it sort of is. Several rumors exist about the origin of the mud-clay fortress. The most popular one pertains to Alexander the Great's failed campaign to conquer Afghanistan. Most Marines choose to stick with the Alexander story because, in all actuality, it sounds way cooler than the others. Besides, who's to prove otherwise?

The scenery is amazing. Artists, and Art Historians alike, would pay to come out here if it wasn't for the possibility of getting shot or blown up. I took a trip to post 4 to scope out the landscape and, perhaps to sketch a few Marines on watch. Unlike the FOB's, Marines actually stand post here.

Marine Lance Corporal post-stander (post 4) at COP Castle

Just before sunset, I quickly pieced together a sketch that depicts what Marines actually see while pulling guard duty. The small camp is divided up between U.S. Marines and the Afghan Uniform Police. One can see in both sides of the base from where I was standing. In the middle of sketching, an off duty Afghan Police Officer approached the front of the post, looked up at us, and just stood there staring. I'm still unaware of what exactly it was that he wanted, but it was quite obvious that he needed an interpreter. Lucky for him, we had a linguist nearby to assist.

Off duty Afghan police officer waits for a linquist in front of post 4.

From what I was told, in order for anyone to gain entry into the Afghan side of the house, they have to have their body armor on and roll at least four deep. These security measures have been laid in place in part to the rise of Green-on-Blue attacks. A doodle diagramming the sketch is shown below:

Pg 20 of journal

I'll be sitting in on tomorrow's shura, or meeting, between the command element and the Afghan locals. This will be a great time for me to come up with some good sketches and reference photos. It will also act as a wonderful opportunity for me to employ my audio recorder and, perhaps, gain more insight as to what the locals are thinking. Once the shura concludes, we are to conduct a small foot patrol to one of the Afghan police stations to have lunch with the District Governor of Khan Nehshin.

Saturday, December 15, 2012 @ 2140
Forward Operating Base Payne, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan 

It's been a few hours since our arrival back to Payne. Reflecting back, I feel that today was fairly productive, inspite of not getting to sit in on the early morning shura. Before the shura began, Lenzo and I made our way into the Afghan side (where the shura was being held) in search of new material. However, when we gained entry into the meeting room, the company CO said due to the nature of the meeting, he strongly discouraged any note taking, sketching, photography, and the use of any audio devices while the shura was in session. Lenzo and I beat feet back the the Marine side and went our respective ways.

Disappointed and, perhaps, pissed, I took a walk around the outpost to see what else there was to do for the next two hours. After regaining focus, I found myself mesmerized when I stumbled upon one of the fighting positions. I thought to myself: "Wow. I have to draw this."

So, there I stood, with book in hand, in the freezing cold, sketching this post encompassed by a mammoth-sized wall made of mud and clay. I found it quite intriguing.

Post 5 located in COP Castle

It began to rain 30 minutes into the drawing. Knowing from recent experience how water destroys moleskine paper, I quickly shut the book, grabbed my drawing utensils, and hurried over to the stairs leading into the post. Manning the position was Cpl. Barrett. We exchanged greetings, I told him who I was, opened my up pad, and began to draw him too. Barrett turned around to ask if I would like for him to stand still while I drew him. I told him no, as I encourage everyone that I sketch to go about their business as if I wasn't there. I have a policy: it's not to get in the way.

LCpl. Barrett, manning post 5 of COP Castle, looks down range.

Once the rain died down, I shook Mr. Barrett's hand and left. With the meeting still in session, I needed to kill more time, so I went back to post 4 to see who was there. The post was occupied by three people: two Marines and one linguist. I can only remember one name out of the three, and that name was none other than LCpl. Biggerstaff. I told him who I was and what I did, and asked if he was willing to have his portrait drawn. He offered zero resistance so I promptly went to work while the other Marine kept focus down range.

LCpl. Biggerstaff and another Marine talk about weightlifting while on post.

I asked Biggerstaff about troop morale.  

"Moral here is fantastic, and the only complaint we have is that we're bored."

He spends most of his waking hours standing watch and working out. Once I saw that the shura had ended, I thanked Biggerstaff for his time and walked back to my quarters to get my gear ready for the patrol.

Instead of going foot mobile, we decided to ride in trucks. Enroute to the base, we received chatter over the radio that a few Wpns Co Marines from Taghaz were involved in an IED strike. When the names were read of those associated with the blast, it dawned on me: "I know that guy."

Fortunately, the MRAP absorbed the force of the blast and everyone inside was fine.

Minutes later, we arrived at one of the Afghan Uniform Police (AUP) bases near Castle. Most of the Marines either had to sit in the trucks, or stand security within the AUP station, while myself, the Weapons Company CO, an advisor, his linguist, Cpl. Lenzo, and I think two more Marines were invited to mingle and have lunch with the District Governer of Khan Neshin. We stripped off our gear and stepped into the District Governor's room--this was a clear sign of trust between them and us, as everybody was now vulnerable.

Body armor staged during a meeting  between U.S. Marines and Afghan Police is a show of trust.

Some of us sat on couches, while others made space on the floor. The District Governor, his finance officer, the AUP executive officer, and maybe another high ranking official sat at the back end of the room, while the Marines sat toward the front. I asked the linguist to ask the District Governor if it was okay for me to record the conversation. Permission was granted, and I placed the device on one of the coffee tables and hit record. Four minutes into it, our CO tells the District Governor what just happened with the IED incident outside of Taghaz. At that time, I began to draw what was taking place in the meeting. The Afghans were marveled at the fact that somebody was drawing them.

Photo courtesy of Cpl. Tim Lenzo, USMC. AUP Station in Khan Neshin District.

Quick sketch of the District Governor (left) and AUP XO (right) during meeting.

Another sketch of the District Governor and his men.

Soon after, I began snapping pictures to use as reference material. Below is a large pastel-chalk piece that I did at home from one of those photos. The portrait is of a high ranking Afghan Police officer.

High ranking Afghan Police Officer in the Khan Neshin District.

The gathering lasted about an hour and, afterwards, the District Governor invited us for lunch. We left our gear inside the meeting room and headed over to the building next door. Standing at the entrance was an Afghan Soldier whose job was to wash the hands of those entering the dining area. The room was nice. Directly in front of us was a long table cloth laid out on the floor with several large bowls of rice, lamb in meat sauce, and bread. It was a feast. Without missing a beat, we all took our seats and began to eat.

Photo courtesy of Cpl. Tim Lenzo, USMC. Lunch with the District Gov. of Khan Neshin.

After we "wined and dined", we mounted up and headed west to check on another AUP station. Somewhere along our route was a bridge that wasn't drivable, so we had to dismount. Only 11 of us went, while the rest stayed back to provide security. At this point, the station was 600-800 meters away. I stuck next to the Advisor, Major Martin, a former enlisted Marine and one of the most down-to-earth people. We patrolled on a dirt road that lead straight to our destination, passing several mud huts occupied by rural Afghan families. Little children with blank stares stood outside their compounds as we strolled on by. From time to time, we would spot motorcyclists passing the patrol.

3/9 Wpns Co Marine patrols through a rural village enroute to an AUP station.

A motorcyclist passes the patrol.

3/9 Wpns Co CO walks past a rural Afghan family enroute to an AUP station.

Major Martin waves to an Afghan family as the patrol heads west to an AUP station.

We spent 15-20 minutes at the AUP station, where Major Martin had to copy down a serial number from one of their generators. We then patrolled to the trucks and retrograded back to Payne.

Afghan police officer stands watch at one of the AUP stations in Khan Neshin.

Once in Payne, I called Lt. Haviland, the Adjutant, to see if he could lock a flight on for me into Leatherneck on the 18th. Bad weather had just grounded the majority of the flights in the area for the next two days, and taking the chance to get on a bird to Hanson and then back to Leatherneck by the the deadline date of the 18th was looking improbable by the minute. Lt. Haviland assured me it would all be taken care of.

Continued p7 . . . 

Wednesday, December 12, 2012 @1839
Forward Operating Base Payne, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan 
Continued from pt4 . . . 

I spent the better part of the morning on post socializing with members of the guardforce. With virtually nothing else on the agenda, the day was all mine. I felt that this was the perfect time to reach out to some of the contractors and other folks on the base. An hour of my time was consumed at Post 2A, talking with a contractor named Brian Sullivan. Brian aka "Sully", a Boston native, is a prior Marine grunt who was badly rocked years ago by an Improvised Explosive Device in Fallujah, Iraq. He now works for Academi and spends his days counting the hours on post. The morning was bitter cold. Sully and his partner stood alert and on the lookout as I began sketching. Minutes later, three cups of coffee were brought up to us via another contractor. 

A sketch of Brian "Sully" Sullivan during his downtime (off post).

After leaving the Marines, Sully used his GI Bill to go to school. He chose contracting because it paid well. He's one year younger than me and is happily engaged to someone who also happens to be an artist. I felt compelled to give the sketch to him, knowing that I'll probably get another chance to sketch him (above).

Still early in the day, I took a stroll to the flight line at the Surgical Trauma Ward to see what was happening. I found a place to sit and proceeded to draw the two Blackhawk helicopters in front of me.

Blackhawks belonging to Surgical Trauma sit at the ready aboard FOB Payne. 

I could hear somebody in the distance say, "Who he hell is sitting on the flightline? Go see what he's up to."

Minutes later, I was met by two Navy Corpsman and, soon after, a Medical Officer (MO) asking for my reason being there. Knowing the wierd looks that I was about to get, I told them that I was a Combat Artist covering the drawdown. While explaining myself, I showed them my sketchbook. Impressed with my work, the tables turned and I was now the one asking questions. Directed at the MO, I wanted to know what their plans were for the drawdown (as far as providing medical treatment to wounded Afghan troops). The Lt. Commander couldn't provide much of an explaination, as he said that the next unit to relieve them will have a more accurate conclusion of the outcome. 

Typical officer answer.

I finished the drawing at around 1330. Bored out of my living skull, I dropped my kit off in the tent and headed to the MWR to check my email. After logging on, I discovered some bad news.  I found out my wife was just diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and had spent the past few days in the hospital to undergo testing. The MRI found lesions on her brain and spine, which will explain some of the vision problems she was having. The good news is that they caught it early and, with life-long prescribed medications, she can still live a fairly normal and healthy life.

Slightly shakened up from the news, I knew I had to get back to work or else I'd dwell on it. I found Post 1. This place literally looks into Pakistan. The Helmand River sits directly in front, with an Afghan Police station further in the distance. The fighting position sits on a small cliff with a steep drop. Thick green shrub canvases the ground beneath. I took a seat next to the edge and proceeded to capture the beauty in front of me.

Post 1 sits on a cliff next to the Helmand River.

The sun was beginning to set. Evening prayer could be heard from across the river. The setting was perfect. The word on the street has it that the Afghans neglect to claim anything south of the Helmand River, essentially making it "no-man's land". Even though Pakistan is actually 40 miles from the position, the locals say that the land in between might as well belong to them.

Fascinating.

Page 16 of Journal

Cpl. Lenzo decided to join me. Here is a picture that he took of me next to post 1.

Photo courtesy of Cpl. Tim Lenzo, USMC. FOB Payne, Afghanistan.

Thursday, December 13, 2012 @0820
Forward Operating Base Payne, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan

Due to severe weather, our logistics run to Combat Outpost Castle has been postponed to this afternoon. Taking advantage of the time, I hurried to the C.O.C. to check on tomorrow's flight to Hanson. Apparently, there are no records of me flying out anytime soon and the folks running the show are trying to secure me a flight for the 15th. 

Thursday, December 13, 2012 @2040
Forward Operating Base Payne, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan

My flight on the 15th out to Hanson was pushed back to the 16th. The logistics convoy has been officially postponed for tomorrow. I'll need to be at the briefing tent by 1100. The plan is to depart friendly lines no later than 1300. 

To pass the time, I made my way over to the Surgical Trauma Ward to see if they've received any medivac's (medical evacuations). Nope, nothing; although, I did make friends with the Soldiers working there. I met the in-flight medic crew, including two of the Blackhawk pilots on station. The Soldiers, who come from a chex mix of National Guard Units, arrived here just 10 days ago. Ever since then, business has been slow and they say that's a good thing. The group of Soldiers are a tight bunch who work well together, considering they've only been around each other less than two weeks.

They were inviting and cheerful. We had coffee.

Army Sgt. Beth Britton, in-flight medic for F Co. 1-169th GSAB jokes with her comrads.

Army Sgt. Peter Davis, in-flight medic for F Co. 1-169th GSAB is absorbed in literature.

After visiting the with the Soldiers, I walked back to my tent to reflect on the embed. The Marines no longer carry out the type of operations that they use to. The war has changed and America is starting to sit it out. Logistically, we are still very much in it, however, the days of conducting offensive operations are over. As a military, we take the Afghans to the fight, then patch them back up when they're injured. Soon, our bases will either be torn down or occupied by the Afghans, and it'll be up to them to assume the burden of their own national security.

Continued pt6 . . .

Monday, December 10, 2012 @ 2041
Forward Operating Base Payne, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan
continued from pt3 . . . 

3/9 Marine waiting to leave FOB Geronimo enroute to Payne.

I just left Geronimo and am now with with Weapons Co here in Payne. On the Osprey ride over, just before touch-down, I was able to snag a quick sketch of the guy sitting next to me, Cpl. Tim Lenzo; he's a Public Affairs Marine sent by Regional Command South West out of Leatherneck to cover battalion-wide operations. The ride went faster than expected, so I had to hurry and put my things away before getting "kicked off" the bird.

Cpl. Tim Lenzo, USMC Public Affairs, sits next to me on the Osprey ride to FOB Payne.

I was told that FOB Payne is the southern most U.S. base in Afghanistan. In fact, Pakistan is visible from the base (the mountains at least). Weapons Co. Gunny, GySgt. Johnson, was the first to greet me at the LZ. He walked me to my tent to drop off my things, then took me to the Combat Operations Center (C.O.C.) where I was introduced to the Company Commander and First Sergeant. Gunny Johnson and I made our way to his office where, ironically, the First Sergeant ended up making me coffee somehow. It was fantastic. Over coffee, Gunny informed me that the Improvised Explosive Device (IED) threat is huge in this area of operations. They either find or hit a handful of them weekly. He gave me a watered down scheme of maneuver on what we'll be doing for the next 2-3 days, including a mounted patrol tomorrow morning at 0700.

We had a mission brief at 1900 explaining in full detail what the tasker for tomorrow was. We are to escort the command west to Combat Outpost (COP) Taghaz so they can finish up their CMR. This was also an opportunity for the company to conduct a logistics run. Nothing sexy. We will be travelling 4 vehicles deep, and the trip, one way, is expected to take three hours. 

Tuesday, December 11, 2012 @ 1858
Forward Operating Base Payne,  Helmand Prov., Afghanistan

Wpns Co Marine preps his MRAP truck for the early morning patrol to Combat Outpost Taghaz

I woke up at 0510, twenty minutes before my "wake up call". Last night I asked the C.O.C. to send a runner to wake me up at 0530, but my internal alarm clock was on a different program. By the time the young Marine made his way to my tent, I was all ready to go. We were told to pack a "72 hour bag", meaning a rucksack and sleeping system. I packed that, along with my art kit and hauled it to the staging area next to the motorpool. Having plenty of time to kill, I linked up with Cpl. Lenzo and we ate chow. When we returned to the motorpool, Marines were conducting last minute vehicle checks in preparation to depart friendly lines.

We rolled out at 0700 on the dot, and they weren't lying when they said the ride would seem like forever. I rode in one of the MRAP's (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) trucks. These, and the MATV's (Military All-Terrain Vehicle), have officially taken over the role of the HMMWV's, as the old gun trucks were what we liked to call "tin coffins on wheels". Here's a drawing of an MRAP that I did of at Geronimo:

One of many MRAP's staged at FOB Geronimo 

While on patrol, I was seated behind the vehicle commander (VC), LCpl. Quinn, and at the feet of the turret gunner, LCpl. Hallbeck. My driver's name is LCpl. Tom NovoGradac ("Novo" for short) and, unlike the others in the truck, this is his first deployment. Quinn and Hallbeck were in Marjah a little over a year ago, so I'm sure Novo appreciates having the experience around him. The three Marines are a locked on bunch. They mastered the art of communication, as their state of alertness, along with the information being relayed between the gunner and VC, was clear and precise. I was able to record some of the intriguing dialogue with my audio device, figuring that my producer with The Story would like to review it for the radio.

We took small security halts whenever the lead truck found metalic hits in the road. Quinn and Novo dismounted the MRAP to sweep the area of any IED's.

LCpl. Quinn, vehicle commander, sweeps the road for IED's during a routine halt.

The patrol arrived at Combat Outpost Taghaz just after 1000. Free to do whatever I wanted for the next couple of hours, I took a quick tour of the area to find something inspiring to draw. In classic Rob Bates fashion, and without paying much attention, I parked myself at a small wall of hesco barriers lining the piss tube area. For those who don't know what I'm talking about, it's exactly what it sounds like. Imagine a row of PVC pipes sticking out of the ground. Now imagine Marines urinating in them. Nevertheless, I already started on whatever it was that I was drawing and there was no turning back.

I considered abandoning the sketch halfway through. Flies were everywhere and were beginning to impede on my progress. Marines probably thought I was sketching them taking leaks. The situation was flat-out awkward and I felt that this was one of the worst decisions I've made in the embed thus far. Cpl. Lenzo was kind enough to angle the camera just right not to include Marines peeing in the back.

Photo courtesy of Cpl. Tim Lenzo, USMC. Combat Outpost Taghaz.

The east end of Combat Outpost Taghaz.

Once I completed what seemed to be the longest sketch of my life, I found Novo hanging out by the trucks. As we started to talk, I opened my moleskine pad and began to draw him. Same routine as always: we chatted about home, college, and other components of our lives. We even talked about troop withdrawl and the state of the country.  

LCpl. Tom "Novo" NovoGradac talks about the downsize of US forces in Afghanistan.

"Despite progress, I don't believe [Afghans] want to live the western lifestyle. I also believe that their success will come down to how bad they really want it."

Continue pt5 . . . 

Saturday, December 8, 2012 @ 2119
Forward Operating Base Geronimo, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan
Continued from pt 2 

I finally got to meet the BBC reporter who's been occupying the space across from me. His name is Ben Anderson, a Brit in his late 30's. This was either his sixth or seventh trip doing this. Early this morning, Ben and I took a stroll to the Dining Facility (DFAC) to have breakfast, where he shared with me his latest experiences in Sangin with 2/7. Ben, a veteran embed, had created a documentary of the battle of Marjah for HBO a while back so, naturally, I hung onto his every word. Ben pledged that the soldiers he'd spent time with from the Afghan National Army (ANA) truly hate the Taliban and, that in most areas, are good to go (with the exception of their lackluster rules of engagement). On the other hand, he stated that the Afghan Police are plagued with corruption. He believes that there's still more work that needs to be done before we pull out. Ben left to go back home an hour later.

Pirek picked me up later in the day to take me to the the airfield, and, from there, I flew to Geronimo to link up with 3/9. I took a V22 Osprey, and had arrived just before 2000 where I was promptly greeted in the pitch black LZ by the battalion Adjutant, Lt. Haviland. The young Lieutenant toured me around the FOB introducing me to all the important people, including the Battalion Commander. The unit was extremely hospitable and inviting. To say otherwise would be a crime.

The FOB resembled very little to that of a combat zone. Zero indirect fire (IDF), little to no kinetic activity in the area, nothing. Marines no longer stand post either; the job has been contracted out to civilians. Academi, formerly known as Blackwater, now mans these positions. Lima Company Marines go on patrols every so often, but that's it. I was leaving in a day, so the chances of me landing on one of those patrols was slim. 

Haviland put me in the guest area for the duration of my short stay. The accomodations are unreal (for combat zone standards). Definitely a far cry from my earlier days in the war where human comfort took a backseat. This is not the war that I remember---this is what a drawdown must look like. 

From what was said to me, I will be here until the 10th where I will fly south near the Afghan/Pakistan border to FOB Payne. More patrols run at that location than they do here. Then on the 14th, I will make my way to FOB Hanson near Marjah where India Co just lost a Marine in a nasty ambush a few days ago. I guess despite how "nice" some of these places have it, the war still rages. Will I get to see it during the course of my embed? Who knows, I suppose we'll see.

Page 9 of Journal 

I was bored, so I did a quick self-portrait from the mirror on the wall.

Sunday, December 9, 2012 @ 1917
Forward Operating Base Geronimo, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan 

I spent much of the day roaming the FOB, familiarizing myself with the area and sketching whatever seemed worthy. Last night was probably the best nights rest that I've had since the 4th; I slept six hours straight and, at one point in the night, I woke up and forgetting where the hell I was. The day began at around 0730 when I went to eat chow and hygiene. Afterwards, I went back to my quarters to grab my drawing kit and camera and mosied around outside in the bitter cold looking for something to draw. The sun was beginning to rise and I wanted to capture it. I took out my watercolors, sliced in half a bottle of water to use as a cup, and then went to work. The results were disasterous. This was a learning experience, as Moleskine pads don't take to water kindly. Needless to say, my painting went to shit before it really ever began. After that abomination, I repositioned myself behind a truck bed and began sketching the Lima Co. side of the FOB. Using both sides of the book, I worked the drawing over in pen, color pencil, and dirt. Yes, dirt. This was a little trick that I discovered from my last time in country. I lick my index finger and rub it into the dirt. Then I take the wet dirt and smear it onto the page. Works beautifully, and I'm the only one that I know who does this.

 Lima Co area sits behind the antennas and satelite dishes.

Academi contractor, Chris Maher, on post.

Ghost post (unmanned) overlooking a portion of the LZ.

Early in the afternoon I began prowling around for a Marine to interview. I ran into LCpl. Utley, a Motor-T Marine who operates Wreckers. We bullshitted for a few minutes and then headed to the motorpool where he spent most of his days standing by. I asked Utley if it was cool that I draw his portrait. He obliged. I took a seat on an old wooden pallet and he pulled up a cooler to sit on. We casually spoke about our lives as I began to sketch him out. Topics such as homelife, getting promoted, how we both fell prey to Non-Judicial Punishments (NJP's), and his future outside the Corps were discussed. I asked Utley how he felt about our withdraw in 2014. He believes that the ANA is not yet ready to take the lead and that we should stay in Afghanistan for at least a few more years after the anticipated deadline.

 LCpl. Adam Utley of H&S Co. at the motorpool.

Which leads me to this next question: Why in the hell do we publicly announce pull-out dates anyway? Is anything sacred in the world of media/reporting?

Afghanistan is a strange place. On one hand, it's dangerous. But, on the other hand, I feel safe. This battalion lost a Marine on 2 December outside of FOB Hanson, where I'll be at my last 3 days of the embed. If there's one thing to remember, you're never too safe no matter where you're at. Tomorrow, I take a bird out to Weapons Co. over at FOB Payne. I hope to hop on a few patrols while there.

Continue pt4 . . .

Friday, December 7, 2012 @ 0951
KAIA Kabul Airfield, Kabul, Afghanistan
Continued from pt 1

In order for a civilian to get into KAIA, he or she must have an escort; this includes those who have Invitational Travel Orders authorizing entrance into U.S. and NATO bases. I stood patiently outside Abby Gate, trying to engage in small talk with a group of Hungarian Soldiers manning the Entry Control Point (ECP) who, from what I eventually gathered, didn't speak a lick of english.  My PAO, SSG Tejada, arrived at the gate minutes later. Greetings were exchanged, my orders were scanned, then we proceeded past the ECP and into the base for further screening. Tejada took me to a security control point manned by, once again, more Hungarian Soldiers. I went through the entire gamut: retina scan, baggage scan, passport and orders check, etc. Things got wierd for a moment when I was told to empty my ruck sack. Apparently, when looking at the scanner, it appeared as if I was smuggling eggs. I wish I was making this stuff up. One of the sentries kept pointing to by bag saying, "eggs, eggs" and gesturing for me to empty its contents. After pulling everything out, we figured out the misunderstanding. Oval shaped pads line the inside of my helmet. My helmet was stored inside of my ruck sack. Those pads looked like eggs. We laughed, and then we moved on. I kept thinking to myself, "Never mind my sharp ass pencils or the kneaded eraser that could have easily been mistaken for plastic explosives."

Once I was no longer deemed a security threat, Tejada took me around the base in his truck, showing me where my living quarters were, the chow hall, and the airfield that I'll be flying out of. I was then given a rack space in the transient barracks. The barracks were predominantly occupied by, you guessed it, Hungarian Soldiers.

It's the next day and now I sit in the lobby of the transient barracks waiting for my noon flight into Camp Bastian/Camp Leatherneck. From there I'll push out to 3rd Battalion 9th Marines, the unit that I'll be embedding with.

Saturday, December 8, 2012 @ 0350
Camp Leatherneck, Helmand Prov., Afghanistan 

So, my 1200 flight out of Kabul was postponed to 2030 yesterday evening. I ended up stowing my gear on one of the storage shelves next to the airfield, and then I walked over to the Morale, Welfare, Recreation (MWR) center to kill some time. I made every effort to sleep, but time still seemed to drag. In the military, one usually has platoon-mates to keep him/her company. In my case, it was simply just a man and his thoughts. I made my way to the airfield about an hour early where I bumped into Alex and Gene, whom I met earlier while waiting for our flight. Both gentlemen are prior service and are instructors for the Joint Personnel Recovery Agency (JPRA). We became friends fast. The two of them were hoping to Space-A to Camp Bastion. There were extra seats available on the bird and we were all able to make our flight south aboard a British C-130J.

The flight was brief, and we ended up landing in Bastion right after midnight. We made our way off the flight line and to baggage retrieval where I was met by my PAO, 1st Lt. Lindsay Pirek, who was responsible for piecing together my embed. She was happy that I packed light (one rucksack, one small tactical pack) and told me to stuff my gear in the back of her white government van. While in the vehicle, Lt. Pirek informed me that 3/9 had plans for me and had taken into consideration my previous combat experience as an 0311. I was going to get moved around often with the possibility of getting in on joint patrols with our Afghan partners. Aware that the unofficial fighting season was over with, the chances of me getting to see much combat was minimal. Minutes later, I was dropped off in front of the media tent where I would sleep for the evening.

Page 7 of journal

I push out later this evening at 1930 to Forward Operating Base (FOB) Geronimo. Lt. Pirek will meet me outside of my tent, with all of my gear, at 1600. In the meantime, I'm free to do whatever. Right now, I'm sharing this tent with a reporter from the British Broadcasting Channel (BBC), who I've yet to meet.

 3/9 Marine waiting to fly out of Camp Leatherneck to FOB Geronimo.

Continue pt 3 . . .

On 5 December, I embarked out east on a self-fulfilling journey to record the drawdown of U.S. forces in war-torn Afghanistan. This wasn't your typical embed. Most media who visit the region are seasoned photo journalists, staff writers, and news reporters. I went as a free-lance combat artist. A valid argument can be made that what I do is journalistic; after all, pictures also tell a story. My goal was to document the passing-of-the-torch between U.S. and Afghan troops in such a way rarely done in contemporary reporting. Whenever I was asked about my media badge and purpose in country, I'd respond with "I'm a combat artist". The looks that I garnered were quite interesting, as if a giant throbbing member was protruding from my forehead.

We are a small community of illustrators dedicated to keeping alive the rich tradition of combat art. I've been groomed by some of the best, and had shared gallery space with some of the nation's finest: Michael D. Fay, Kristopher Battles, Victor Juhasz, Richard Johnson, Roman Genn, and Steve Mumford just to name a few.

I'm reporting on behalf of The Story with Dick Gordon, a syndicated radio segment hosted by WUNC and co-hosted by American Public Media. I was a guest on the show twice before [Jul 10 & Dec 12 (20:40 mark)] and, even though my art can't be seen through the airwaves, this will give me the opportunity to debrief my experiences from an artist's perspective on national radio. The art that I create will find nice homes, as I plan to donate portions of my work to the National Museum of the Marine Corps, the Smithsonian Museum of American History's Military and Diplomatic Collection, and the University of North Carolina-Charlotte.

Here is my story, broken up into parts. Much of it mirrors the daily entries made in my moleskine journal in theater.

__________________________________________________________ 

Getting there

Wednesday, December 5, 2012 @0737
Washington-Dulles International Airport, Washington, DC., USA

Just checked into Dulles Airport. I have roughly three hours to kill before I fly out to Dubai, UAE enroute to Kabul, Afghanistan.

I met a number of interesting people earlier this morning. After my wife dropped me off at Charlotte-Douglas International Airport, I was lured in conversation with who I assume are a couple headed to Hawaii (the gentleman was much older). Looking at my giant rucksack sitting next to my feet, the lady asked me where I was headed to. When I told her Afghanistan, she began candidly voicing about her brother's tragic death while serving in the Army. She went into great detail about how he had suffered complications from a nerve agent during the push into Baghdad. Then she asked me if I was ever issued "the blue pill". My response was no, as the only pill I ever had to take while deployed was the anti-malaria pill mefloquine and the pill we got for sea sickness. According to her account, her brother was issued speed and was forced to kill a lot of people, even children. 

I wasn't entirely sold on her story but, for the sake of keeping the conversation brief and for the fact that I "wasn't there", I nodded my head in sympathy and wished her well.

Thursday, December 6, 2012 @ 0910
Dubai International Airport, Dubai, UAE

Made it to Dubai, and the time-change is already taking a toll on my body. My boarding pass to Kabul didn't have a gate number so, after asking around for several minutes, I was eventually guided in the right direction. The walk to gate C4 was a long one. I was told to go straight and keep going. Once I get to the end, take the esculator up and continue to go until I reach another esculator and take that one down. Keep going straight and gate C4 will be on my left. Luckly I had a few hours to kill, as the walk took me nearly a half hour. The airport in Dubai is huge. It's also very nice, until you get near terminal 1 concourse C.

Page 3 of journal

With one whiff, I knew I arrived. Several Afghan/Pakistan nationals, outfitted in their man dresses, slept on the ground underneath and behind the benches. As I strolled past the gates enroute to mine, I quickly noticed that I was the only westerner in a 500 foot radius. The smell brought me back to my days as a warfighter. The stench was pungent---a violent concoction of body odor and human excrement mixed into a single fragrance. Despite the horrible aroma, I still took a seat on one of the benches. I did this to A) get a reaction, and B) to do some warm up sketches. I was greeted with stares. They were piercing and uninviting. Not thinking much of it, I took out my small moleskine journal and pencils and began to draw the gentleman sitting to my left (pictured above). He turned to me and shook his head "no". That was my que to leave.

Friday, December 7, 2012 @ 0951
KAIA Kabul Airfield, Kabul, Afghanistan

I arrived into Kabul International Airport at around 1500 yesterday. Before that, I was washed over in panic on whether my checked bag containing my body armor would make it into Kabul. It did.

Before planning for this trip, I never knew one could fly commercially into Afghanistan. I took Safi airlines into Kabul, which was an interesting experience. After flying 12 hours from DC to Dubai, my tolerance for airline food was at an alarming low. I couldn't stomach another meal.

Upon arrival into Kabul, I had to go through Immigrations. After getting my visa stamped, I proceeded over to baggage claim. Once I collected my bag, several Afghans approached me offering to carry my things. I politely refused the help as I was more than capable of carrying my own gear. I was also being careful with how I spent my money, as Victor warned me how the locals tried to take advantage of his generosity while he was there last year. Many simple "no thank you's" sufficed and I was on my way to parking lot C to meet my driver.  

Map 1 courtesy of Mohammad
Map 2 Courtesy of Mohammad

My driver's name is Mohammad, whom I met through Victor, whom he met through Roman, whom he met through . . .

Mohommad and I took into account that it would take an hour after I arrive before I would make it to the rendezvous point. My flight rolled in at 1500, one half hour earlier than expected, and since immigrations and baggage collection went unusually fast, I ended up waiting for Mohammad. Getting to parking lot C was no short walk. Luckly, there were several Afghan Police checkpoints to help me get to where I needed to go. Once I found the place, I noticed there were several other westerners waiting for their rides. Afghan cab drivers saturated the lot, begging for our business. It's been strongly encouraged that westerners do not hop into random cabs, as kidnappings by the Taliban in Kabul are on the rise. Fortunately for me and the others waiting, we had rides. While watching out for our cabbies, I befriended a British contractor (can't remember his name) also waiting for his ride. We ended up bullshitting to pass the time. About 45 minutes later our guys had arrived. We shook hands and parted ways.

Man, was I glad to see Mohammad. Recognizing each other was a cinch (thank you facebook). Once aquainted, I threw my stuff in the cab and slipped a wad of cash underneath his car stereo for his troubles. Mohammad is a former U.S. Army interpreter who, in all actuality, possesses a better command of the english language than most do in the states. What Mohammad does is risky business, as helping Americans isn't the safest of things for a local to do in Afghanistan. Victor had given me $50 to give to him, as he refused to accept payment the last go around. I slipped in a $20 to make it $70. 

As seen in the map above, the base literally neighbors the airport. Given that, we were still forced to detour south and head back east to Abby Gate. Traffic was insane. Lanes and stop lights seemed more suggestive than law. I was perplexed as to how we didn't get into an accident during the 10 minute transit. Once we arrived at the gate, Mohammad loaned me his phone to make a call to my Public Affairs Officer (PAO) so he can come let me in. I exited the vehicle, reminded Mohammad that I needed to be picked up at this spot on the 21st at 1400, shook hands, and then went our separate ways.

Continue pt2 . . .