Please allow me to introduce myself…
In the UK, we are called ‘Agony Aunts’. But here in the states we are known as advice columnists, or ‘Dear Abby’, as a catchall. This one, however, is a bit different than the manners-focused columns that were once mainstays of local newspapers, and from their cloying contemporary reincarnation, the “ethics column”. This is a mental health advice column. No, I will not diagnose you, or anyone you know, nor will I absolve you of responsibility because your ex is a ‘narcissist’ or tell you that you are not an asshole, just autistic – or in the parlance of our time, ‘on the spectrum’. In other words, I will not respond the way social media seems to. Have you not wished, at least once, that your therapist would tell you what to do, instead of hinting or implying or making you get there on your own?
Why should you trust me? Because I have credentials. Good ones. Flawless, even. But more importantly, I have made a number of mistakes myself. More than mistakes actually: life-altering and life-shattering miscalculations that I have survived and learned from. I have slept with the wrong people, trusted in the wrong friends. I have spent nights in squats on the lower East Side and gotten scabies more than once. I stayed for a month at the Chateau Marmont. The front desk knows me by name at the Four Seasons, and the bartender at the dirtiest bar in New Orleans never lets me pay for my drinks, which if you are at all familiar with lower Decatur Street in Nola you know took some serious time and dedication. People I love have died, taken from me by drugs and AIDS and suicide and sheer stupidity. I had a childhood that would make the Menendez brothers wince and know things that most therapists just do not.
So write to me. Ask me your questions, And I will at the very least avoid clichés and advice involving finding your inner child or mindfulness or meditation or yoga. I might tell you to do more drugs, drink more gin, and get into more fights. I might advise a weekend in Vegas with your boys or a night with a stranger. In order to provide the best answer I can, please include a complete, albeit succinct, description of the problem and the parties involved.
I need data and context to arrive at a useful result. But rest assured, whatever you ask me, I will give you the best, most honest, least bullshit answer that I can. That answer will come from who I am, and what I have seen, and yes, decades of training at the worlds’ most prestigious institutions. I am Dr Trainwreck, and I am here to say the thing nobody else in your life will.
I gotta motor if I’m gonna make it to that funeral.
—Dr. C. Barnabas Westlake
Dear Dr. Trainwreck,
I am an artist and I work in the arts, but I am plagued by the feeling that I am not doing enough to make the world a better place. Every day I fantasize about quitting my art world job and getting into a profession where I feel like I’m helping others directly. But I love art and I’m also afraid I’d feel alienated if I left it behind. How do I decide what to do?
Sincerely,
Guilt-ridden in LA
Dear Guilt-ridden
Firstly, guilt often exists to remind us that we are, in fact, doing something wrong. Second, if you want to help people, you do. It is that simple. There are, of course, ways to bring your artistic self with you into a helping profession (think art therapy, community projects, murals, and so on). Without knowing what kind of artist you are, I cannot say what a good fit might be. But I can say that if you feel guilty, it is likely because you know in your core you are not doing all (or maybe even anything) you can do for others. That said, art has always, and in my opinion will always, be at the forefront of revolution and resistance, and is vital to keeping the darkness at bay. So be an artist. But perhaps be an artist who falls more into the category of activist artist rather than self-indulgent artist. This is not a time to navel-gaze or retreat to a studio and interpret the world on a canvas. This is a time to fight, to contribute, to stand up. As for feeling alienated and left behind? I for one would certainly prefer that to feeling—no, to knowing—that when people needed help, I chose to ignore that need.
Be well, and do good things.
—Dr. C. Barnabas Westlake
