A fine artist’s secrets of the past

It's been a while since I've had to explain my past—last time for a podcast episode, and more recently in an interview at the flea market by the Bristol Post. Both were probing attempts to discover the artist behind the art. Why do I do the things I do? What was that past experience/time like for me?

Using the STAS hanging system on metal railings at the Bristol m32 flea market showing Chris Shopland’s artwork

One thing I often forget is that most people don't have personal experience with childhood, teenage, or chronic illnesses. While ADHD and autism are more commonly diagnosed now, and more people discover they are on the spectrum, true understanding remains mostly among those of us who are autistic and have ADHD. Even then, each individual's experience is unique. I sometimes take for granted that others don’t face these challenges.

During the Bristol Post interview, an interesting comment came up: “I thought you said you are autistic and have ADHD, yet you mention fatigue a lot, I thought they were just about focus and social interactions” This reflects a common misconception that we are incapable of functioning in certain environments (which while true is more nuanced). Yet, I meet many autistic individuals at exhibitions and public events—we do indeed walk among you. The difference is in how we experience these interactions. In explaining my world, I realize that those without autism don't experience these things often, if at all.

Fatigue in ADHD here

Fatigue in Autism here

I am still on a journey to understand myself and what it means to see life through this lens. Autism is classified into levels 1, 2, and 3; I worked with non-verbal adults who lashed out in frustration, this was before my breakdown in March 2017. This led me back into addiction until December 1, 2017, because I had no job, was newly single, and had no prospects. Now, I have 6.5 years clean and am putting more time into my art. While I occasionally see some financial positivity, I often practically give my art away, making it a challenging business model. Yet, I continue to hope it is possible to make a living from my art.

My health struggles began with glandular fever at around age 9, which attacked my thyroid gland. Despite producing T4, I don’t convert well to T3, leaving little in my system. The NHS missed this at the time. I was in and out of school with flu-like symptoms and extreme fatigue, becoming housebound and then bedbound around year 8 (7th grade). It's a depressing story, and I'm still searching for the best way to tell it.

Once my physical health improved, I began to regain a semblance of life at 17, attending an hour of college a week and later studying illustration at university in 2009. This is when my mental health issues began to surface. Initially, I didn't drink until I was 18 and was careful until a tame birthday BBQ. By age 20, with health improving slightly, my drinking escalated, helping me slow my racing thoughts.

After a breakup and discovering party drugs like cocaine and ecstasy, I graduated with a 2:1, which could have been a first if not for my drinking. I managed to stop drinking several times, only to relapse. Eventually, I sought help through 12-step meetings, which I attended for four years until COVID made them difficult (attended via zoom for a while). Now, at 6.5 years sober, I maintain my sobriety without meetings.

I still experience fatigue, which is understood within ADHD and autism circles but not widely recognized in everyday life. Navigating a neurotypical world and a capitalist system exhausts our nervous systems. Even without a typical work routine, the busy, noisy world is tiring. This common trait of fatigue is often overlooked.

I prefer to focus on hope and celebrate different minds, but that doesn't mean I can drop the "disabled" label. Articles written about me might not fully capture my world, so I thought it best to address it here.

Why do I create art? I feel it’s my one true skill that I can make money from and create a lifestyle around. Art doesn't drain me; it gives me energy. It might seem selfish to pursue a creative life, but money is a byproduct of doing something beautiful and following my bliss. Creating art has always been a part of me, even through illness. Art could be my saving grace, giving me purpose.

Despite physical health struggles, addiction, and now a life of quiet solitude, I find fulfillment in painting. The upcoming Upfest festival will be my first major venture back into the public, and I look forward to it. My dog keeps me company, and my art is a constant companion. I share this so that any articles written about me won't be misconstrued. While I no longer am the person who went through all those things, I am content, confidently quiet, and focused on my art.

The mind maze I plan to paint for Upfest symbolizes the puzzle of self-discovery and acceptance. It's strange to think back on my journey because while it likely influences my art, I don’t feel it does—I am focused on where I am going, not where I was.

I tend to have a few styles: detailed paintings in my unique style, like the kingfishers; ink scribbles on acrylic backgrounds; maze heads and imaginative pieces; and hybrids that blend details with imagination. These styles emerge naturally, driven by my emotions and the intentions behind each artwork. I struggle to stick to any one style because each piece expresses a different aspect of myself.

Kingfisher Giclée print example Chris Shopland (original sold)

the very first of the maze heads (sold)

This came out more intense than expected, so I own my intensity series born, Acrylic painting by Chris Shopland

Playing with transparent spray paint on top of acrylic , I own my own intensity (2nd in the series) Chris Shopland

So, I've had all these experiences—some within my control, some not. Of course, it's not as simple as that; once you're addicted, it's tricky to get out. But it happened. Along with my diagnoses of dyslexia and dyspraxia, I was diagnosed with ADHD in 2019 and autism in December 2023. I'm still getting my head around it, but it makes sense with my burnout, sensory overload, frustrations leading to outbursts, and social struggles.

However, my past doesn't define me. It feels like a false start, and only now am I getting to grips with life, realizing I've been playing on "insanity mode" instead of "story mode" (a gaming reference). I returned to art fully at the end of 2018 and sold my first original piece at the end of 2019. Now, I believe in myself as an artist.

People often ask if I'm a full-time artist, how I make my money, and how much I make—questions rarely asked in other jobs. Despite this, I'm confident I can gain momentum, connect with more like-minded people, and have my art in more homes. I hope to live a creative life, perhaps even move into a better-suited building with a purpose-built studio, a garden, and a nicer neighborhood. Currently, my area is lovely, but this corner often has broken glass, beer bottles, and balloon canisters—not ideal for running an art business.

I trust my art will do well and change all this. When asked if I have a story, I do, but I'm still figuring out how to tell it in an empowering way that highlights my strengths rather than the mess I once was in.

My art aims to show that it's okay to be different, as long as we don't hurt others with our opinions. Navigating this is tricky, but I believe we can be kind to one another. We can thrive with our different ways of thinking. I want people to realize the struggles we face despite the positives—it’s a balance.

My art gives my life meaning, and I hold onto the hope that it will take me places, allowing me to live without worrying about fitting into society or where the money is coming from. I want people to pay for beautiful original art that speaks to them, enabling me to live the only life I know and reminding them of the life they wish to live also.