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Who is Louie Rochon?
A good place to start may be to use some of the words that those closest to me
have used to describe me . . . Eccentric, Passionate, Driven, Overly Sensitive, Moody,
Angry, Committed (or should be), Romantic, Compulsive-Obsessive, Anally Retentive,
Workaholic, Recovering Alcoholic, Great Father, Lousy Husband (twice), Impatient,
Creative, Intense, Imaginative, Brilliant (that guy was drunk), Talented, Humble
yet Arrogant, Opinionated (for sure), and Extremely Stubborn.
That should cover most of the bases.
The Formative Years.
My art career started as the result of yet another mid life crisis. I've had many. Perhaps
I should start at the beginning (for those few that are interested in knowing the whole story).
I was born a poor black child (sorry, couldn't resist that line) north of Quebec, Canada.
I naturalized to the USA with my parents, when I was 4, speaking only French,
which would account for the French sounding name.
cute kid - eh?
Basically grew up in Southern California a pretty normal spoiled brat ... you know, the whole Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll scene. Sex, unfortunately, accounting for the lesser of the three.
In my early adult years, I invested 10 years in the restaurant business,
7 of those years with Carl's Jr., a multi-state chain, working up from manager to
management training instructor to multi-unit supervisor, responsible for 11 restaurants,
10 of which I opened in one year - a Major Burnout!
Having exhausted this career as well as becoming grosslly disenchanted with the crowded,
smog-choked-rat-race of Southern California, it was time for a change - a major change, a new life, from scratch - a pattern that I would repeat many times throughout my life.
Off to Alaska
My first wife and I packed up everything we had and drove north to Eagle River, Alaska,
about as far away from So Cal as we could get, to start another new life.
Nannook of the North
I worked in the restaurant business for a while (Captain Cook Hotel in Anchorage) while
studying for my real estate license. My timing for a change of career was incredibly fortunate - the beginning of the Great Alaska Real Estate Boom.
My First Fortune ... Boom & Bust.
Working like a madman for 5 years, I made a fortune in real estate in the early 80's, amassing numerous rental properties and material toys; luxury cars, sailboats and other 'stuff.'
I promptly lost that fortune when the market busted in 1985.
I moved to Washington state to start over from scratch, again, at which time I filed for
Bankruptcy, losing everything that I had worked my ass off for, over the prior 5 years.
Oh well, I did it once. Guess I could do it again, but not without going
through a long year of some pretty dark depression.
My Second Fortune.
Again, in the booming Seattle market of the late 80's / early 90's, I once again
managed to rebuild my real estate career, amassing another fortune as well as building
quite a reputation for marketing and promotion.
After 15 years in real estate, I decided to try something different and start
my own marketing company, (Vision Resources Unlmtd., Inc.). This new company
was very succesful from the very start. I consulted with real estate professionals and small
business owners, teaching them how to market and promote themselves.
Business was good. Life was good. I was on top
of my game, again. Not for long.
'Marketing Master of the Universe'
Another Manic Manifestation.
Mental Illness Takes Over My Life
With clinical Bi-Polar depression, still unrecognized, I fell headlong, into a horrible
bout of depression, which lasted over a year. I rapidly gained 50 lbs., lived in my sweats and was too ashamed to see clients and never left the house. I totally closed myself off from everyone
around me, including my wife and kids, which eventually resulted in a divorce.
I couldn't blame her, yet I didn't know what has happening
to me and felt powerless to change it.
I was falling apart, losing my
mind, yet couldn't stop.
A year later, the fog lifted long enough for me to pick up the pieces.
Slowly, I started putting myself back together again. I joined a gym, lost 50 lbs,
took a lucrative job offer in Phoenix for an advertising agency, wrote a seminar for them
as well as a few marketing books and hit the seminar circuit.
I travelled around the US to teach 'Strategic Power Marketing', primarily to real estate
agents and small business owners. Business was good. I was on top of my game again.
It seemed like everyone wanted what I had to offer. I was useful, productive and once again,
"The Master of the Universe." Little did I know that this was simply the flip side of my yet
undiagnosed condition of Bi-Polar II, the "Manic' side. It was only a question of time
before I would once again plunge into the depths of hell ... and it wouldn't be long.
As is very common for people suffering from clinical long term depression,
I self medicated to try and get some relief from the relentless suffering.
I relapsed back into my alcoholism, turning my back on 6 years of hard-fought-for sobriety.
I was now stuck an a treadmill from hell, a vicious downward spiral of despair and hopelessness
from depression, then drinking to try and survive and more depression from effects of drinking
and depression and drinking, and depression and drinking ..... I wandered around
for a few years in this dark cold fog of drunk insanity - utterly lost.
I felt very much like a shattered, worth-less, use-less, pathetic example of humanity, feeling
more and more hope-less that I could ever manage to feel normal and fit in.
I felt 'terminally unique,' ashamed and desperately lonely.
As lonely as I was, I felt like I needed to protect those around me as a Lepor would
isolate themselves on an island. I hid to protect those I loved, from worrying about me as well as to protect myself from well meaning but threatening people.
The Walk Across America - (1996 - 1998)
It was at this low point in my life, that I decided that I needed to do something, ANYTHING!
I had to save my life, what was left of it. I had hit an emotional, physical and spiritual bottom. There was no way out but up, or suicide. I still had a glimmer of hope. I believed in God, and God knows, we talked, a lot, those days. Or should I say, I talked, a lot. He couldn't get a word in.
Once again, I was blessed with the gift of sobriety.
I was attending daily meetings in Phoenix and got some much needed support.
Now, there was hope in my life and a little strength to try again.
While driving through the Arizona desert one hot day, once again praying (pleading) to God
for relief, the crazy idea of Walking Across America suddenly popped into my foggy little mind. Huh? It was so sudden and so clear, that it stunned me. Walk Across America???
Where? Why? Why not? Apart from the fact that I was a two pack a day smoker, was 30 lbs. overweight (again) and
walking to the pantry for a bag of potato chips was a major challenge - Why Not?
What did I have to lose? I had no life, feeling nothing inside; I was dead.
I had put aside some money, was not passionate about starting another business
and this just might give me an opportunity to discover myself, again. I knew that I had to try and
save my life, and maybe, just maybe I could do some good in the process.
Over the summer, I sold everything I owned to raise money for travel expenses.
This was another one of those periods in my life, all or nothing, burning all my bridges behind me. There was no way out except to finish what I had started. I had no career, no home, no relationship ... just time and 5000 miles of road ahead of me. The freedom was overwhelming, but welcome.
I trained for a few months in the summer of 1996 to get in shape.
Not even 800 miles of 115 degree desert would prepare me for the Florida humididty. Damned good thing we don't know what's ahead of us, or we would never get out of bed.
Prior to starting the walk I had read a book, 'A Walk Across America,'
by Peter Jenkins that informed me that I would, most likely, receive a tremendous
amount of publicity. This, I thought would provide a great opportunity to do be able to do
some good for some deserving cause, thus I started looking for a great cause.
After researching and learning that world peace and hunger were primarily
intentional political agendas, I happened across an incredible man, Jim Jenkins, who had
adopted two HIV positive children and started an organization called Children With AIDS
Project of America, a non profit organization in Phoenix, AZ. http://www.aidskids.org/.
On September 15th, 1996 I got on a plane and flew to Miami, Florida,
to start walking back to Seattle, the long way, via San Diego, a journey of 5,200 miles that
would take me a little over two years to complete. I have thousands of stories and incredible memories from this adventure, the amazing people and places were priceless.
 This was bigger than life itself ... making a difference was the ultimate high. Jim, the founder of Children with AIDS of America, introduced me to a number of children with AIDS, including two of his own. After hearing their story, I KNEW that I had found the worthwhile cause that I had been looking for. I had found a cause bigger than life itself, a passion filled me once again. I was coming alive. Once again, unknowngly, this passion was confused with the upside of madness returning - the manic side of my yet diagnosed mental illness.
Press Conference in San Antonio, Texas.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I can say, without hesitation, that these 3 years
were BY FAR, the most challenging, yet rewarding experience of my life, to date.
I knew, from reading that book, that the media would be interested in this crazy guy
walking across America. I was hoping that I could redirect the attention to the cause that I was representing, Pediatric AIDS. Could it work? Would they be interested in covering the stories of the children and families dealing with AIDS?
It worked and worked Great!
There were hundreds of newspaper articles, magazine features and dozens of radio and TV interviews. We reached over 90 million people with Pediatric AIDS awareness and raised
tens of thousands of dollars for various AIDS organizations. In just one 3 minute interview
on a national TV syndicate "CBS, This Morning", we reached 20+ million people.
I would love to repeat the walk for my 60th birthday present
to myself, from Seattle back to Miami, or maybe across the Northern US to NY
and down the Atlantic. Why not? Only this time, it will be for Mental Illness Awareness!
Another 'endless' road, somewhere in New Mexco.
I loved roads where you could see 100 miles in front of you. I felt so free.
This kind of adventure 'changes you' in ways that are indescribable.
For over two years of actual walking, I had a vision that kept me moving forward,
day by day, step by step, inspite of every conceivable hardship, every kind of extreme
weather, life threats and obstacles. I would day-dream of those last few steps up to the base of the Space Needle in Seattle, with my son at my side, to complete this once (perhaps twice) in a lifetime adventure.
On October 11, 1998, my 12 year old son, Alex, and I walked side by side those last few steps of ten million steps, surrounded by hundreds of friends, media and well wishers.
My Proudest 'Dad' Moment
The Walk was Over!. I had NO idea what was about to happen.
Damned good thing I didn't or I would have quit, long before.
The Great Depression
and the beginning of my art career.
For 2.5 years during the walk, mostly alone, I had a great deal of time to think,
to imagine unlimited possibilities for my life - for my 'after walk life.' What I hadn't foreseen
was the excruciatingly torturous and incapacitating manic depression that would
soon consume me, mind, body and soul.
For three years, my life made sense.
I had a purpose. I was useful and productive. I knew who I was.
I WAS making a difference and my ego had identified who I was with what
I had accomplished. When the walk ended, almost overnight, I was lost, totally and utterly lost.
I had no idea who I was, overwhelmed, feeling worth-less,
use-less and pathetic, once again.
For three years, I was riding a tidal wave of mania.
The depression, on the flip side of this manic depressive roller coaster ride from hell,
was back, in full force and it consumed me, with a vengeance.
I never saw it coming.
For thousands of miles, I'd carried these 'very special' stuffed
animals, pinned to my backpack, given to me by the kids,
for good luck. It was time to return them.
Within an hour after the Grand Celebration, with all friends, family and reporters gone,
atta-boys handed out and an official proclomation from the mayor of seattle in my pocket, I
found myself, alone, slumped over a sticky bar stool in a sleazy waterfront bar. I was stinkin' drunk, gazing into a smokey mirror in front of me, staring with disgust and contempt into the
hollow eyes gazing back at me, wondering what just happened over the past 3 years?
Was it all one big waste of time? Why? What? What do I do now? Who am I?
Should have seen it coming.
I didn't.
For 3 years, I had a definite, specific purpose and goal, all consuming
of my energy, time and resources. When it ended, without another passion
to pursue, my life felt like an incredible black hole.
To make matters worse, I'd ruptured two disks in my lower vertebrae while walking the
steep coastline roads of California and Oregon for the last 5 months. There were days I could
not remove my backpack, needing to keep it strapped tightly around
my waist to hold my back together.
Within 3 months of completing the walk, I literally could not
walk or stand more than a few minutes. Something had to be done, soon!
I underwent major back fusion surgery with 4 months of rehabilitation and heavy
sedation drugs, which I mixed with alcohol ... I was in serious trouble as I didn't care,
one way or the other whether I lived or died. My mental ilness had me pinned down to the floor,
almost dead, and I prayed earnestly to a compassionate God to take my life.
This deep depression, which dragged on for over four years, coupled with debilitating
relapses of suicidal alcoholism and drug addiction almost killed me. I prayed daily that
it would. I felt like the alcoholic in the movie 'Leaving Las Vegas,' (played by Nicholas Cage) where he decided to drink himself to death, and he did. I suppose 'normies,' (people that are not afflicted
with the diseases of alcoholism and mental illness), simply can't understand why anyone
(in their right mind) would want do die like that.
I understood, completely! And believe me, after 20 years
of attending alcohol support groups, I can tell you, there are millions of others,
that know what I am talking about.
Somehow, I managed to physically live through this period of time. I was just surviving,
trying to get through one day after another and this was no easy task. Each day, seemed like an eternity. I assumed there was more that HE needed me to do in this life, but I sure couldn't see it.
For many years, I was mad as hell, with God.
I was a decent, loving and compassionate human being.
Why would a loving father punish his son like this? I would NEVER intentionally
hurt my own son. Looking back, the darkest, most hope-less of moments were when I felt stuck
in the pressure cooker of my emotional illness, squeezed between depression and mania,
coupled with severe alcohol and drug addiction, yet hating God. It was
impossible to feel any more alone than how I felt then.
People that have not experienced clinical mental illness cannot understand
that every time you cycle in and out of these extremes, you loose just a little more hope.
Not knowing you are sick, you cannot help but feel that you are broken, defective, dirty and
totally lacking of character and self discipline.
Of course now I know, that this is as ridiculous as blaming a cancer patient for being ill. I didn't know. With each episode, I would come to despise myself more. It felt like I was watching myself being eaten alive, unable to stop it and the worst of it all - believing that I deserved it.
Once again, after struggling to put some sobriety time together and picking up some of the assorted pieces, with a lot of help from friends and family, I decided that I wanted to start my new life
over doing something that I loved, to find some passion, something that could
conceivably make a difference in this world. I totally lacked the self confidence or desire to go back into marketing or sales. What to so?
I needed something that would provide an outlet for my insatiable appetite,for expressing myself, allowing me to unleash the yet-to-be-understood 'demons of my soul'
so to speak. Once again, not knowing I was mentally ill, I was trying to fix myself.
I just wanted to feel OK about myself.
I decided to become an Artiste'. Why not? Besides, it was time to start my life over, from scratch, again.  Working on 'Killer Chicken'Aside from the fact that I'd had no formal training and knew nothing of art, I decided that I would just figure it out on my own. I never had the ability to sit still long
enough to attend college. Now I know why. Nevertheless, all the careers I undertook and
succeeded in, I learned by just jumping in and doing it. This always worked me for me in the past, so why not now.
I went to the library to check out some books to learn how to become an artist. I discovered a book entitled "The Simple Screamer", a book written by Dan 'The Monster Man' Reeder. I couldn't stop laughing ... it was a book showcasing and describing how to build papier mache monsters. His creations struck a nerve with me ... they were tongue in cheek, colorful and fun, yet providing a medium that was so versatile that would be unlimited with potential, allowing me to create,
3 dimensionally, anything that my mind could conceive.
They reminded me of life sized cartoons, NO, larger than life (something I and my ego
were quite fond of). I had found my medium and immediately commenced to build my first
'creature-ation.' From this led inspiration to create many more pieces, each one
providing a means to ex-press myself more fully. A Star is Born, maybe?
The Strangest Little Art Gallery in Washington.
In the Fall of 2004, my son, Alex, (now 18) and I decided to move to a quiet town
on the Washington coast, Ocean Shores, and open an art gallery and studio. I'd hoped
that I could create enough revenue with the gallery to allow me the time and opportunity to work on larger works. Besides, being a gallery owner was a career that I hadn't tried out, yet. Why not?
Little did I know, this was just another manic episode dragging me along for the ride.
Alex and I built the studio and gallery over the next few months and opened
for business late December of 2004. The name of my gallery was Rochon Sculpture
Gallery and Working Studio but the locals had come to call it ...
"The Strangest Little Art Gallery in Washington".
Calling it Quits for the Gallery Business.
When the lease was up for annual renewal (9/2005) I took a hard look at my situation and
assessed the goals that I had set out for myself when deciding to start the gallery.
My art always seemed to create controversy, thus plenty of lengthy articles and 'unsolicticed'
reviews were written, and it was always good for business. What I concluded was that I was
basically creating art for my landlord, and the utility companies, and all the other overhead
that was consuming all of my income. This simply didn't make any sense to me.
I wanted to work to make a living, not live to work.
I decided to close down the gallery and relocate back to Whidbey Island, WA.,
and create a studio (see studio link for images) with far less overhead, (like ... none), simplifying
my life, enabling me to work on whatever it is that I wanted.
A big part of my decision to close the gallery was due to the onset of yet another serious bout of depression which eventually resulted in cardiac problems. I didn't know it at the time, but 5 of my coronary arteries were almmost completely closed off ... Over the next two years, I would have two heart surgeries with 6 metal tubes (stents) placed into clogged coronary ateries, to keep the blood flowing.
I was dangeroulsy close to death in ths picture,
5 unknown blockages of coronary arteries, yet with the depression,
I really didn't care. 'Fix it if you want,' was my inner attitude,
all the while hoping I would not survive the surgery. I just wanted
the pain to end and didn't know how to stop it.
Once again, I was having a real problem trying to find a reason to live as all I wanted
was for the pain to go away. I was totally lost again. There are only so many places you can
hide, yet I felt like I'd been to them all. I wanted to die.
What kept me alive? God stepped in again and handed me another book.I happened
across a little book in an onscure book shop in Ocena Shores. I somehow knew that I needed
that little book. I immediately started reading and implementing the spiritual
practices in 'The Power of Now' written by Eckhart Tolle.
Being reminded that I am not the thinker but actually the watcher of the thinker, gave me
a life-saving separation. While in the grips of paralyzing depression, I would shut down the
gallery, go to the beach with the book, pray and read, all day, many days.
This book, quite literally, saved my life.
These books kept me alive, acting like a life preserver. I didn't know it at the time, but future book studies of 'Power of Now' and 'New Earth' as well as 'Stillness Speaks,' would help me to build a strong stable foundation of presence, of consciousness in which I start building a new life, a real life.
Thank You Eckhart.
Hitting Bottom and Recovery from Mental Illness.On December 24th, 2006 I had finally sunk to my lowest low. In a particulary desperate moment of depression and mania squeezing me from both ends, I was seriously considering a shotgun ending. There have been many times in my life when I felt desperate and thought about suicide, even half-assed attempts which were really 'cries for help,' but this was completely different. I was done. I simply could not take it anymore. I had lost all hope. I hit my knees, sobbing and in despair pleaded with God for help. Christmas Eve. This truly was when I was reborn, yet it would be another couple years before I would fully realize this. It was no easy task to put the pieces together again. I was sick. Really sick. Next thing I knew, I found myself on the internet, desperately searching for suicide hotlines and ran across a posting, which I thought, was from a person suffering from suicidal depression. As I read on, I realized it was a letter from the 17 year old son of a man that had killed himself on Christmas Eve and an account of his shattered life since his dad killed himself and how desperately lonely and guilty he had felt since then. I was struck like a lightening bolt.I clearly saw an image in my mind of my own son, Alex, 17 years old at the time, writing that letter, about me.
Instantly I knew,
suicide would never be an option. Never!  I would not, could not do that to him. I had to find another way out. Instantly, it was as if the pressure was turned up 100 fold. I knew there was no way out of the suffering, yet the pain was increasing, dramatically. I felt like a caged animal in a pressure cooker about to explode and I was mad at God!. I never realized He was there, by my side the whole time and he lifted that phone to my ear. I callled a suicide hotline in England and spent hours talking with angels over the phone, through a very long night. This was my bottom.One year ago, in January of 2007, I was finally diagnosed properly as Bi-Polar II, formely described as Manic Depession. Over the course of this year, I have been working incredibly hard with a specialist experimenting with many mood stabilizers to adjust the chemical levels in my brain. There have been ups and downs but today I believe there is a solution. This is a treatable disease. I know that I will never fully recover, but with the right medication, I can keep it somewhat manageable for life. Similar to my alcoholism, I need never drink again, as long as I am willing to work a rigorous program of mind, body and most importantly - spirit. Today, I have hope.
Today, I am alive and today,
I am filled with gratitude.You may have gotten to this point in what you thought was an 'artists' bio,' and be thinking 'What does all this personal crap have to do with an art site?'
I believe it has everything to do with the artist, the person behind the art. Truth be told, I am not really an 'artist.' An 'artist' is a limiting label, a word that describes the person that creates art. And what is art? Just stuff put together. But why? Where does it come from? What inspires, NO - Demands that this person, this 'artist' create something? What is it within that human being that requires them to ex-press from within? Where does that creativity come from?I think, with my definition of an 'artist bio,' you may have a real understanding of the soul of the person that creates what you will see on this site. You may have a better understanding of this person that is willing to become intimate with another person, you, a stranger who now has a personal connection with another human being, me. What is art, without knowledge of the soul of the artist - just stuff that will eventually turn to ashes. But the soul, the connection between people, expressing feelings and emotions and ideas, touching lives, that is eternal. That is truly important. And, That's my opinion. Louie Rochon____________________________________________________________________
U P D A T E March 17, 2008I write extensively about mental illness on three forums (mental health support groups) for families and those suffering with Bi-Polar Depression. This is an important part of my recovery and is helping many others. I get dozens of emails a day, from family and friends of those suffering with various forms of mental illness, thanking me for helping them to understand not only what their loved ones are going through but also how they may be supportive and a part of the solution for them. It is intensely gratifying to hear from so many people silently suffering with undeserved guilt and shame, not unlike myself for almost a lifetime, that can finallly identify their feelings and find hope in my story.This is, perhaps, God's will for me, for this walk. Perhaps it was never about a cross country walk, but rather a road to discovery, through hell, yet coming out the other end with a solution, a greater compassion and understanding of others and the opportunity to offer hope to others, from my story. This is why I have always thought the name of the book would be 'A Long Wallk Home.' Now I understand why I could not even consider writing this book, until recently. I was not ready. God was not done with me yet. There was no ending. There was no beginning. It made no sense to me. Funny how God works in your life, broadsiding you in directions you could never see coming.
This book will be written, soon, as it must be, to complete my walk. Do I have any regrets? Not a one. Do I wish there could have been less pain and suffering for myself and those that loved me, yet felt overwhelmed and confused as to how to help. I wouldn't take a second of suffering away! Why? Because this is what it took to make me who I am at this very moment and gain compassion for those that suffered from my illness.
Now, I can truly be useful. Now, I have a passion and purpose once again in my life, one that is solid and lasting - to be able to share my experience, strength and hope with others, to help others.
It has taken me 55 years to find my way home. In actuality, God carried me, all this way, all these years and I could not be more grateful.
If you are interested in reading more about mental illness, check out my blogs. Please note: The descriptions can be troubling for some. I do not hold back on details as many of my blogs were written WHILE in the grips of some of the worst episodes.
Please feel free to forward this link along to anyone that you think may be suffering from undiagnosed mental illness.
BLOG ... http://www.uswalker3.blogspot.comLINK to the BIO ... http://rochonsculpture.artspan.com/mbr_bio.php_________________________________________________________________________ Latest Artwork in Process
 Feels Great to be Working Again!
With the miracle of the remission from depression and mania, I have actually been inspired to create again. It's been a while but I have recently completed a new work, a commission, for the Three Springs Visitor Center in Colorado as well as started a new piece for Earth Day. For images ... visit ... http://picasaweb.google.com/uswalker
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Want Some Free Daily Inspiration?
Check Out The Good Dog!
In early 2007 I started researching, creating and sending out a daily inspirational message
to my son as well as to reinforce the 'Good Dog' in me. Thinking my friends might find it of value,
I added a few people, who added a few more people. Soon, it took on a life of it's own.
Every day I get requests to be added to The Dog, from all over the world.
This simple story, passed on by a friend, has grown into something that has greatly improved
the quality of my life and for many other people as well. What a blessing this little dog has been for me.
Good Dog vs. Bad Dog ... It's Your Choice!
____________ABOUT 'Daily Good Dog Feedings' ____________ A FRIEND ... shared a story about a meeting with a Native American elder, in which the elder conveyed to my friend that in their traditions, believe that we all have, within us, a 'Good Dog' and a 'Bad Dog', that will always be fighting to be in control.
My friend asked him, "Which One Wins?"
The elder simply replied ... "The One That You Feed" If you would like to add yourself or any of your friends to 'Daily Good Dog Feedings' ...
simply send me an e-mail with your e-mail address.
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