I have waited a long time to share this. I wondered at times if I would ever share it. But now, after twenty years, I feel that it is time. This is not about the abusers. This is about me. And it is about me moving on, growing, and becoming more than what they saw in me. But I still need to have the final word. I still need to have a voice in this matter. I need to share why I had to leave LA.
The Demon Skip and I on the set of Angel - likely around 2003.
Twenty years ago, well, right about now, we left Los Angeles for Florida. We left friends, work, and more so that I could take a position at FSU, where I have worked ever since. Up until March 2005, I had been working in television, movies, music videos, and more. I designed and made monsters with a team of skilled artists and technicians, making amazing things with little to no time and a shoestring budget. You could say it was a dream job. A job that I dreamed about and one that I traveled across the county for and uprooted not only my life but the life of my wife. It was something extremely important to me.
For the last twenty years, when someone asked me about LA, expressed interest in LA, or wanted to know how they could see their dreams of living and working in LA a reality, I usually answered with, "Living in LA is hard." I still stand behind this answer, but it is so complicated. I am twenty years out of date, but for us, LA was expensive and crowded, traffic was a nightmare, and it took forever to do anything with anyone due to the size of the city and commute times. We were barely scraping by most of the time even though we had reduced (not free) rent for being the onsite managers for two apartment buildings. Being the apartment managers meant we had zero peace in our home life, and we were surrounded by 39 apartments worth of people who, at all times, hated us. At least I was living the dream and had an amazing job making monsters for movies!
Only I wasn't.
I will not mince words - I was the victim of verbal and physical abuse and sexual harassment for the last three years that I worked in LA in the industry. This abuse primarily came from my employer, but others in leadership positions participated and encouraged my mistreatment. I am not here to name names; some are now dead, and others I care not to engage with. My employer, who I had considered a good friend, took great delight in my abuse. The verbal assaults were constant and consistent - I was a bad artist, I was color blind and couldn't paint (even though I am not color blind), I was fat, I had X, Y, or Z physical defects that needed constant reminding, I wasn't smart, I wasn't good enough, etc., etc., etc. This continuous abuse, of course, emboldened others who would add their mix of insults for me. I would have cigarette smoke blown in my face whenever folks needed a laugh because, at the time, I still had extreme allergic reactions to smoke. My eyes would begin watering, my nose would run, and if there was enough smoke, my throat would constrict. All of this was daily or even hourly. I worked hour to hour in fear of being fired because I was told I was incompetent while being given extremely important duties to complete. Every level of my artistic expression was questioned, and most of the time, I had my work and ideas laughed at and ridiculed. I would have my work held up before me and told it was garbage and bad. I would be forced to listen to monologues about how I was not a skilled or talented creator. I was told that all my ideas were old and tired, and I simply lacked the ability to draw.
When the everyday antics were not enough, my employer, sometimes joined by other coworkers, would stand behind me as I was working at my computer. They would place their crotch on the back of the chair, directly behind my head, and unzip their pants while making suggestive comments and would ask me if I would sexually gratify them. This harassment was a weekly occurrence. My employer would announce that it would be happening and would come in alone or gather up someone else to join in, so I knew it was going to happen, and I was expected to keep working while they unzipped and zipped their pants behind my head. It was worse than you imagine, but not as bad as it could have been.
Then there was the original sin of the boss using his friendship with me to lowball my pay and then made sure I didn't know how badly he was paying me. He never gave me a single raise but got me to do FREE work at home with the potential 'if we get the work, you get more money' dangled in front of me. Strangely, the raises would never happen. I had a coworker who began to shake with anger when he learned how little I was being paid. My insulting low pay was one of the reasons we were just scraping by and were so dependent on working at the shop.
These are only the highlights, the stuff that was happening every day. These were the things I grew to accept as part of my workday. But there was one final event that marked the turning point. This final event took place in January of 2005. The shop was hard at work on some 'hero' dead bodies and parts. We were working on a new show and needed our work to be top-notch to impress production and ensure that we stayed on the show. So, with all this important work going on, it was, of course, the exact time my employer and shop manager went to a film festival in another state. It was the eleventh hour of the project, and the top people at the shop just packed up and left. The art director was left in charge, and I was told to send constant updates to those attending the film festival.
There are several stages in the production of makeup effects that can't be rushed because there are setting, curring, or drying times that take as long as they need to take. So, if you are working with silicone, latex, or gelatin, you have to schedule for different setting and curing times. We were running up to one of those pinch points on the project. The sculpture needed to be molded (which takes time) so that it could be cleaned (also time) so that it could be cast in silicone (even more time). And even once you have the silicone cast, it needs to be cleaned, seamed, painted, hair applied, and so on and on. These things take time, and multiple people are involved at every stage. We had to move forward with molding the head so that it would be completed and on set when it was needed. That was our reality - we HAD to start molding so that every other event after molding could happen, and we could be on set with a dead body. If we waited any longer, there would be dire consequences, and we would likely not complete our work. I frantically texted, emailed, and called my employer and shop manager about the situation. We needed their blessing as they watched movies.
The shop was in a holding pattern for what felt like hours. We waited and waited for word. It got to the point that others were trying to get ahold of anyone so we could get permission to move forward. Finally, the shop's art director made the call. He said that he felt the sculpture was as good as possible and that we had to move forward. He told us it was his call and we would mold the head. I once again reached out to the bosses and updated them. The molding of the head began. Once the silicone was poured, the boss checked his phone and email. They were not happy. They were not happy with me. In fact, they were downright irate with me. They were screaming at me over the phone... at ... me. Twenty years later, I still don't really know why they were angry at me. Well, I do know, but there is still no actual reason for them to have been angry at me. And let me be clear: they were not mad at ANYONE else. It was me, and me alone that their wrath was targeted. It was me, and me alone, that had somehow DESTROYED and RUINED everything. Somehow, it was all my fault. Everything that was going badly and crashing and burning was my fault (but what exactly was going bad or crashing was unclear). I had advanced the project without their knowledge or approval, ruining everything and costing everyone their jobs. You get that, right? Things I didn't do, decisions I did not make, and things that hadn't happened were all my fault. And they kept calling me to yell at me while I was trying to work.
They rushed back to LA at the twelfth hour to 'save the day' and fix the horrible mess I made. They rolled into the shop all angry and puffed up. They looked at all the work and loved it all. They were thrilled with everything, except me. Oh, were they furious at me because I was still destroying everything... somehow. I was apparently actively making a mess of things right before them. The art director actually stepped up and got between the bosses and me and told them they were wrong that HE had made the call. That it was HIS fault if there was an issue. The bosses said no, that wasn't true, and that it was clearly my fault, and they proceeded to yell at me in front of the entire shop and all my coworkers. I was maddeningly torn between devastating confusion and gut-wrenching anger. Nothing made sense. I sucked it up. I took it. And I went back to work with my coworkers staring at me. I gave it a little time. I approached the bosses about it a day or two later, addressed the situation, and asked for something, maybe an apology or at least clarification of what transpired. They picked up where they had left off, that I was nothing more than scum that destroyed the project and cost everyone their jobs. The dead body went to set and was a massive hit. There was nothing but praise heaped upon us and the shop. The shop worked on that show until it was canceled. They needed to yell and scream because they felt powerless for a moment, and I was the one they knew they could unleash on. I was the one at the shop who was supposed to accept that treatment. Me and only me. They didn't treat anyone else in the shop like they treated me. And I had had enough. My eyes were finally opened.
Within a month, I interviewed for the position I now have. A month after that, we were back in Florida. That was twenty years ago. Thankfully, most of these things feel like they happened twenty years ago. I have worked on the parts that do not. Within three months of returning to Florida, I was working for Wizards of the Coast, designing miniatures. My artistic skillset exploded, and I made most of the advancements in my abilities in the following few years. Leaving LA saved me. Leaving LA allowed me to become the artist I am. But I had to go to LA for these things to happen. It is complicated.
I will add that before leaving LA, I had begun documenting everything that was done to me. The time, the event, those involved, the duration, and the outcome. I had a pretty involved and lengthy document. I had planned to move forward legally if things had not changed. One of the things that held me back from pursuing legal action was my concern for the livelihoods of my coworkers who were not involved with anything of this. I didn't want them to be without a job if things played out as I figured they would. Maybe I should have done more, but it was clear that I was the chosen recipient of the abuse.
But that is, thankfully, all behind me now. I know who I am. I am someone who no longer allows others to treat me like that. I am also a good artist who makes cool monsters.
That's all for another exciting Monday on the blog. See you back here on Wednesday! Until then...
