Today we’d like to introduce you to Aaron Schmit

Hi Aaron, can you start by introducing yourself? We’d love to learn more about how you got to where you are today?

I started this journey in a place where everything seemed broken—inside and out. Painting found me when I needed it most, in June of 2020, when I was clawing my way out of a darkness that nearly consumed me. For years, I was lost in the bottle, spiraling down, thinking there was no way up. But something in me refused to stay down. Maybe it was resilience, maybe it was desperation, but I picked up a brush and began to paint. It wasn’t pretty at first, just raw emotion splattered on a canvas, but it was real, and it was mine.

My art became a lifeline, a way to express the pain, the hope, the chaos that churned inside me. The first piece I sold was to a woman from Kentucky—a Trash Flower, as I called it. The name stuck, not because they’re made of trash, but because they were born from it—born from the mess I was in.

Over time, that mess started to take shape, transforming into something beautiful. Each painting became a step forward, each sale a validation that maybe, just maybe, I could turn my life around. I’ve been sober ever since I started painting, and I’ve created over 160 pieces, scattered across the country, each one a testament to resilience, creativity, and authenticity—three things I’ve come to hold dear.

So, how did I get here? I got here by refusing to stay where I was, by picking up that brush, and by pouring every ounce of myself into my art. And refusing to hear the word no. The journey’s far from over, but I’m still here, still creating, still pushing forward, because art saved me when nothing else could.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?

It’s been anything but smooth. The road I’ve traveled is littered with scars, both physical and emotional, from battles fought and lost, and some, just barely, won. The struggle started long before I ever picked up a paintbrush. It started when I was a kid, drowning in a haze of over-prescribed medication, 24 Ritalin pills a day that dulled everything—my thoughts, my feelings, my organs. my soul. It left me a shell, lost in my own mind.

As I grew older, the pills faded, but the emptiness didn’t. I filled that void with alcohol, thinking it would numb the pain, but it only amplified it, driving me deeper into darkness. I hurt people I cared about, pushed them away, and lost myself completely. I was reckless—survived a car wreck that should have killed me. It cut my car in half down the middle like a sandwich as i put it underneath the guard cables on the highway. Walking away from that wreckage litterally untouched was a miracle, as if i was ment for something more. but it didn’t wake me up like it should have. Instead, it made me feel invincible, untouchable. But that was just another illusion.

It wasn’t until I was on the edge, looking over the abyss, that I realized I had to change. Picking up that brush was my last hope, and even then, it wasn’t easy. Sobriety was a brutal fight, one I still face every day. And painting? It’s like bleeding onto the canvas, every stroke a release of something I can’t put into words.

There were times I wanted to give up, to fall back into old habits, to let the darkness win. But somehow, I kept going. The struggle is still there, always just beneath the surface. But with every new piece, every brushstroke, I’m reminded that I’m still here. I’m still fighting. The road has been anything but smooth, but it’s mine, and every bump, every bruise, has brought me to where I am today.

Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?

My work is my soul laid bare, captured in each brushstroke, each vivid burst of color. I paint what I call the Trash Flower Collection—an ongoing series that started as an outlet for my pain and has grown into something much bigger than myself. These aren’t just flowers on a canvas; they’re reflections of my journey, blooming from the wreckage of my past. Each piece carries a story, a memory, a moment in time when I was either at my lowest or on the brink of something beautiful.

I specialize in taking what’s broken and turning it into something vibrant, something that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit. My art isn’t about perfection; it’s about authenticity. The iridescent paints, glitter, and even blacklight elements I use aren’t just for show—they’re there to remind us that even in the darkest moments, there’s always a glimmer of light, something worth holding onto.

What I’m most proud of? It’s not just the art itself, though I’m grateful for every piece that’s found a home across 41 states and beyond. I’m proud that my work has connected with people on a deeper level. I’ve had folks tell me that my paintings spoke to them, that they saw a piece of their own story in my flowers. That’s what keeps me going—the knowledge that my art can touch lives, offer hope, and maybe even inspire someone else to find their own way out of the darkness.

What sets me apart? It’s the rawness, the honesty in my work. I don’t paint to please others; I paint because it’s the only way I know how to survive, to process everything I’ve been through. My art isn’t about fitting into a mold or following trends—it’s about being true to who I am, flaws and all. I think that resonates with people because it’s real, and in a world full of facades, real is something we all crave.

Is there anyone you’d like to thank or give credit to?

When I think about the journey I’ve been on, there are a few people who come to mind—people who, in their own way, helped me rise from the ashes. First and foremost, my clients. They’re not just buyers; they’re believers. They saw something in my work when I was still trying to see it in myself. Each one who took a chance on my art, who welcomed a Trash Flower into their home, gave me the courage to keep going. Their support has been the backbone of everything I do.

But if I’m being honest, the biggest influence hasn’t come from mentors or cheerleaders. It’s come from the Everyday struggles and the pain that shaped me. The people who weren’t there, who didn’t believe in me, who left me to fight my battles alone—they’re the ones who forced me to dig deeper, to find strength I didn’t know I had. In their absence, I learned to stand on my own two feet.

There’s also the memory of the man I used to be, the one lost in addiction and despair. He’s the ghost that haunts me, but also the one who drives me. I owe it to him to keep pushing forward, to create something meaningful out of the wreckage of his life. I didn’t have traditional mentors, but I’ve had the support of those who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. And for that, I’m endlessly grateful.

Lastly, my art itself deserves credit—it’s been my teacher, my companion, my salvation. Every canvas has taught me something, guided me through the darkest times, and showed me that there’s beauty in the brokenness. In many ways, it’s the art that’s been my greatest mentor, showing me the way when I couldn’t see it on my own.

Pricing:

• Custom Trashflower (be a part of the nationwide movement and my journey )
• 22×28 – $180
• 24×24 – $180
• 24×36 – $250
• 18×20 – $165

Contact Info:

• Instagram: Schminati_exclusive_artwork
• Facebook: https://Www.facebook.com/schminati

Image Credits

Aaron Schmit