I grew up with diametrically opposed art influences in my life. By the time I was in fifth grade, my public school art teacher all but told me to never pursue the arts. In the shocking finale to her years of passive aggressive behavior, she hung up all of my classmates' work at the district art show--including unfinished pieces, random drawings that weren't the actual assignment, and random drawings that sadly were the assignment--and told my mother my work was too ugly to display. She had told me for weeks it was the best piece I had done and praised the use of colors; when I pointed that out, she said she would talk to the principal about my lies. I left in tears, humiliated, as my father stayed behind to share a few choice words with teacher. On the other hand, my mother was a ceramics instructor. She has taught ceramics since before I was born and still teaches today. She constantly encouraged me to pick up the brushes and paint. I assisted her with detail work at birthday parties by the time I was in second grade and sold my first piece at her craft shows long before that. Not once did she ever mock or insult her students who weren't very good at painting. She worked with them to improve their skills and offered to do the hard bits like eyes and lettering if they really seemed overwhelmed. Everyone always left her classes happy, whether they were 5 year olds or 95 year olds.

The teacher, sadly, won out, and I never took a formal art class again. Anything I've learned over the years, I taught myself with the help of friends or instruction books and refined in private. I can take a critique, but I can't take passive aggressive attempts to stifle the exploration of the arts. I have never and will never tell one of my music or theater students that they shouldn't be involved in music or theater regardless of ability level. Not every actor will wind up on Broadway and not every painter will wind up in the Louvre. That is no reason to make it your life goal to destroy a child's creative interests.

When I realized I could actually attend the Chiller Theatre Expo's fall event for the first time in many years, I knew what I had to do for myself. I had to enter the Art Contest. I was probably a better fit for the model contest because I've shifted so much focus to haunting and shadowboxes, but I knew I didn't have the time for photo-realism. The Art Contest was my only option to get over my own personal demons from 17 years before.

Fortunately, I had already taken a big step for myself and launched Sketchy Details @YouTube. I knew that when--not if, but when--I finally got up the nerve to put myself out there on video, I was going to do an arts/crafts show. I know I have skills and ideas and I want to help other people find that kind of inspiration to make their own art and decor.

One of the projects was my zombie speed painting, which was actually a piece for a monster landscape/thrift store makeover swap at another website. I had looked at that awful geisha painting on black velvet for years and knew I could do something special. A Dia de los Muertos inspired zombie just made sense at the time and worked beautifully.

Obviously, as you can see in the video, it started out as pure paint by numbers and then took on a life of its own. I reshaped the facial features. I redid the entire hair design. I added trees and creatures and twisted sugar skull details until I felt comfortable saying it was my own painting.

The deadly sins paintings followed shortly thereafter and I figured why not go for broke and enter two?

The Model Kit & Art Contests at Chiller Theatre Expo are only held at the fall convention; the spring convention is a pure vendor/signature/auction event. The Art Contest is the only category with no entry fees. The turnout varies from year to year and the style of the winner is all over the map. Sometimes, it's original horror or sci-fi art that takes the top prize; other times, it's photo-realistic oil paintings of iconic movie posters or film stills that take the crown. You can enter two canvases and the judging is blind.

The night before the Chiller Theatre Expo, I was standing in my workshop setting up a framing rig. I did not have time to build a frame from scratch for the zombie painting, now known as Memoirs of the Dead, and I didn't like the frames I had that fit the deadly sin painting, Wrath. I really did start to panic. The last thing you want to do in any competition is give people a reason to dismiss you that has nothing to do with your work. I took a breath, grabbed some black paint, and quickly transformed both pieces into gallery wrap presentations. It would have to do.

My refrain for weeks was "You're going and entering." I wanted to do nothing more than come up with an excuse to avoid being judged for my art. I was so heavily attacked in the real world and online (which, in both cases, has petered off to what I assume is the normal experience of most people) for the dumbest things, that any moment I'm not 100% in control of is a possible trigger for an anxiety attack. My confidence is very slowly coming back, but I often push myself far harder than I really should. You grow from overcoming adversity, but I come very close to tying myself to the railroad tracks far too often, wriggling as fast as I can to escape the impact of catastrophic failure on my psyche.

Those thoughts didn't leave my mind when I showed up at the convention. The instructions on the website said to skip the line and go to the registration check-in table. I did. They sent me to the other side of the hotel. The other side of the hotel sent me to a volunteer. That volunteer sent me to the information desk. The information desk sent me to another volunteer, who sent me to security, who checked with the information desk, who then had me stand outside in the will call line to get my ticket just to get rid of me.

Looking back on it now, the Chiller Theatre Expo was already packed and they were doing the best they could to help me; in the moment, I began to think every pass off was a rejection. Overly dramatic? Of course. But that's what happens when you have bad anxiety on top of OCD and want everything to line up just so at all times.

I started to chat with people on the will call line--which kept flipping to different locations with no consistency in line order or instructions. They wanted to see the paintings. I was reluctant to show them off because you just never know how people will react.

I opened the large brown shopping bag and got positive feedback. Some people really liked Memoirs of the Dead and some people really liked Wrath. It's comparing desaturated pseudo-realism to metallic pop art, so I wasn't exactly expecting a consensus. I just know that those people who pushed me to actually show off the canvases before the contest are the reason I didn't get in my car and drive home before the day even started.

I eventually did make my way to the correct check-in area. A few of the showrunners were manning the Model Kit & Art Contest sign up and were extremely polite. Registration did not take long but I've often thought about the reaction to my work since then.

I pulled out the two canvases and held them against the tabletop.

"Do you have hangers?" the one man asked. I showed off the wire and eye screws on Memoirs of the Dead and the sawtooth on Wrath. I gave that man all the relevant information--my name, the names of the pieces, contact information--while another worker watched.

When I flipped over Memoirs of the Dead, the mood changed.

"Whoa," said the second man. He leaned in for a closer look and touched the black velvet surface. Another artist I ran into earlier entered the room and glanced at the painting with a smile and a nod. He gave me a thumbs up when I made direct eye contact.

"You should DEFINITELY come back for judging at 6" said the first man, staring directly at me.

"I'll be there," I said. "Do you mind if I look around?"

"Of course. We'll hang these up soon."

"Thank you."

I looked around the room and marveled at the models. That really was the contest I should have entered. I'm no good with a kit, but when left to my own devices, I come up with some pretty wild horror and fantasy pieces. I wouldn't have won against that level of craftsmanship. The medium is just a better fit for me than canvas art.

There was an ulterior motive for choosing to browse the entries at that time. I wanted to see if the men running the room were putting on an act for me. If the other artist was received the same way, I wouldn't believe a word they said.

It was no act. They took his information, collected his art, and said "Judging is at 6" before he walked away. The men in charge of the contest entries genuinely liked Memoirs of the Dead. Wrath was always a back-up, an outside chance of success depending on the judge. But Memoirs of the Dead was my first painting in years to make me feel a sense of pride.

Since the Chiller Theatre Expo is in NJ, I ran into a lot of artists, attendees, and even a few celebrities I've developed relationships with over my years of festivals and conventions. I ran into people I interviewed at NYCC and people I've known since I was a child selling painted dragons and dinosaurs at my mother's craft booths. They showed off their new projects and seemed excited when I told them I finally entered the Art Contest.

This mostly kept my mind off the reality of possibly being judged by every person who attended the convention. This is no little fluff event. This is the largest surviving horror convention on the east coast. It's also a toy fair, which brings out an entirely different crowd. So many people tried to get in that Saturday that the fire marshal shut down the door and left firefighters at each entrance to literally count out how many people could enter the hotel.

I popped into the contest room more times than I care to admit throughout the day. I wanted to see my competition. I wanted to see how my work looked on the wall against the other artists' creations. I wanted to see how people responded to my work, good and bad, to somehow justify my inclusion in the contest.

To my surprise, I did feel like I belonged. My work stood out from the other entries that pulled clear pop culture inspiration, but the quality was about equal. A few late entries by immensely talented oil painters started to eclipse everyone else's entries, but none of the submissions on that peg board looked out of place.

Even more surprising was the reaction to my work. Every time I walked in, there were people staring or point at Memoirs of the Dead and Wrath. They got close enough to touch Memoirs of the Dead (black velvet brings that out in people) and bobbed back and forth a bit to make the metallic red dance on Wrath. People really liked my paintings. I actually had a chance of winning the contest.

I showed up an hour early for judging. I watched a very touching display of emotion and gratitude from one of the stars of the last big Japanese Godzilla film and the joy that finally meeting the cast of Monster Squad brought to the attendees at the convention. Every event happened in that narrow hotel meeting room, regardless of scale or interest.

The show runners and judges arrived to hand out the prizes for the Model Kit & Art Contest. Sadly, a lot of the competitors didn't even bother to show up. I was there regardless of my own standing in the contest to cheer on and congratulate my fellow competitors.

First were the prizes in the children's categories--two children entered total, one in art and the other in model, so they both won. They received a huge round of applause and a lot of praise from the judges.

They wasted no time for me. The Art Contest was the first prize in the adult categories. Third and second place went to paintings I expected to take first and second. I actually got excited. If the two paintings that I thought eclipsed every other entry in the contest didn't win, I had a shot. I actually had a shot.

The man who registered me for the contest was reading out the winners in this category. He got to first place and glanced down at the card. He scanned the audience, made eye contact with me, and smiled.

"And the winner of the Art Contest is Robert Ga--" I almost jumped out of my chair. Then I realized he didn't finish the name. "Robert Gan...Robert Ganto? Robert...Oh, Robert Gaito for Gorilla Girl."

I hadn't won. The man who encouraged me to be at the awards because he thought I could win was convinced I had won, too. We were both wrong. Why else would he glance at the card, seek me out in the audience, and then pause so much when he realized his mistake?

The salt in the wound was Robert Gaito not even showing up for the awards. Who was he? WHERE was he? He walked in right when the auction was setting up; it was the artist who walked in after me. It was the man whose work didn't receive such a strong reaction at registration from the man who convinced himself for a split second that Robert Gannon had won the Art Contest.

I returned to the contest room proud of what I had accomplished. No, I didn't win the contest. I didn't place, either. But I entered. I got great feedback on my art all day long. I got over myself, my anxiety, and my past of being told "don't" long enough to actually find out that I could keep up with other artists. I know my strengths lie in writing and music; that doesn't mean that I can't take pride in my craftsmanship as an artist and produce work I'm proud of. I'll never earn my living as a visual artist, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't make art.

I hung around for a few minutes and watched the winners take their photos for the website. The man who welcomed me so warmly and accidentally got my hopes up talked to me for a long time about the show and the contest. I explained that, because the show is usually so close to Halloween and I'm so busy that I rarely get to go to the fall Chiller Theatre Expo. We talked about haunts, conventions, horror, and art.

Then he left me with a final message, "You have to enter again next year." I promised him I would.

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You can check out all the entires in the Model Kit & Art Contest at the Chiller Theatre Expo website.