WHEN I was still a child, the Cold War had ended, and with it I thought history too was over. I was disappointed. After all, the Cold War was the dominant reference point for four decades of art, music, and literature. The Vietnam War counterculture movement defined my parents’ generation.  And then here I was, born into a plateau of peace and prosperity, where social and environmental consciousness had won out, and it seemed like there would be no more wars to fight in, or to protest against, This may have been a juvenile belief, and a juvenile desire, but I have come to realize that I wasn’t alone in these sentiments.

Of course, then came the Iraq War. From its infancy in 1991 to its present-day uncertainty, this conflict has now entered its 4th U.S. presidency. It has been the backdrop of my generation, a backdrop that has been, for many, a baptism by fire into the tragedies, conquests, and consequences that history has to offer.

Where is the art from this new angst? Where is the art that will inform a new generation about the Iraq War, about coming of age in times of emotional and political extremes? Can we produce— have we produced— the art that will define our generation, our history, and our war?

Scott Pollock works outside of Dallas, Texas, as a gas station assistant manager for QuikTrip, the largest petroleum distributor in the United States that doesn’t own its own refinery. Prior to that he carried an M16 and flak jacket to work in the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines—the most decorated Battalion in the Marine Corps.

The dueling self-portraits above depict Scott. On the left is a disciplined Marine and a disciplined artist. He has returned to civilian life, but his eyes remain vigilant. The style and emotion of the portrait is reminiscent of the lessons previous wars have taught us, but as the right half of the painting reminds us, Scott has returned from a different war.

At first glance, Scott’s second portrait may not seem to bear any relationship to the war. On inspection, you may notice the scribbled words in red and blue— these marks apparently replacing the technique of carefully shading in skin tone. The second portrait mocks the artistic and soldierly discipline of the first, both overtly, with tongue out, and stylistically, with the words scribbled in patriotic colors. It is his wife, whom he left during his tour of duty, depicted over Scott’s heart with her gaze softly cast away from his snarling face.

Scott calls this self-portrait “Seeing Double,” Of course, the question of whether it is the viewer, the artist, or the subject that is confused or intoxicated enough to see double remains open. Whoever it is that is seeing double, may also be credited with hallucinating the sexy angel and the devil sharing the same shoulder, and bumping their butts together— a humorous, provocative symbol for our new age of history, with its attractions, blessings, and sins.

The War of our generation is not fought by conscripts, but as Scott explains, “There is a demographic skew in enlistment rates.”

The soldiers of our war grew up playing with G.I. Joes and watching Apocalypse, Now. They were exposed to the usual cultural and artistic models of what war is and what a soldier should be, models brimming with an undeniable sense of the mystique of romance and threat. “The night before I went back to San Antonio to head to boot camp,” Scott explains, “I watched Full Metal Jacket and Saving Private Ryan. This sort of thing seems to be so common as to be nearly a prerequisite.” In spite of, because of, these war narratives, Scott chose to join up, chose to help, to risk his life, to carry a weapon, to fight, and to destroy. I don’t say this to assign culpability, but to point out an understanding— that there is a part of me that is compelled by the same desire, understanding that despite this desire I didn’t volunteer and never would have, so long as I had other opportunities— understanding that most soldiers would not have joined if they had other opportunities— and understanding that, nonetheless, these soldiers did choose, and feel that much more intertwined with the pride and the sins of the war they had volunteered for.

The romantic opportunity of performing honorably under fire goes hand in hand with the lure of a steady job. And once it is your job, contractually, you can only take in stride the hard work and the harsh realities of war, falling back upon the pride of doing your job well and the hope of being lucky enough to get back home safely. Scott referred to the military as a “jobs program,” and in this sense it is no wonder that his artwork transcends his occupation. He was an artist before, during, and after his service.

Nonetheless, being a Marine has added to the dimensions of who Scott is, and has placed a stamp on aspects of his craft. The illustration above is one of many works that Scott has titled “Made in Ramadi.” It is a modern-day angel, complete with a halo of green, drawn with sharpies on a sheet of computer paper. When I first saw the title, I thought of the inscription “Made in Hong Kong” on my G.I. Joes. The toy was quintessentially American— it was a U.S. soldier, and yet it was produced, in all likelihood, under the sweatshop conditions of a Hong Kong factory. The stamp was incidental to the utility of the toy, and yet it represented a suffering, and a poverty that was the history of the toy’s origins. Scott’s seemingly escapist vision also has this stamp of origin. But a sharp metallic design lines the angelic woman’s halo, and the face of a devil alternates with a sharp edge or a heart shape, depending on your perspective. The illustration is bordered by two blue wings as though they were removed from a dissected bird. The woman’s hair, a sign of her grace and femininity, is shaved above her ears. Her bangs stiffen to a point, cutting through the bottom border of the illustration, separating the date from the title that stamped the location of the work. This illustration is not about the war, but its origin is inescapable, “Ramadi” intruding on the aesthetic beauty of the angelic woman Scott is portraying, symbolically stamping the angelic vision of Scott’s— of our— generation.

The media’s catch-phrase branding of our last two generations epitomizes our existential cultural struggle for definition. In the 80s, the very nomenclature for Generation X was a mathematical variable, a placeholder, a void to describe a common consciousness. This inability to define the generation became a testament to the idleness of the age. The Pepsi Corporation was kind enough to cut the ties to this listless title, and rename the masses growing up in the 90s with the ad slogan “Generation Next.” We became no longer stamped unknown in our idleness— we became stamped unknown in our potential. We are the future and all that it portends. But who are we?

I believe that what Scott’s art and the art of our new generation has to teach us is that we are many people. We say that all people have their own point of view. We were raised with the understanding of identity and subjectivity as unique to each of us, and we asked ourselves, ‘what is that singularity, that perspective, which is unique to us—that defines us?’ When we could not find an answer, we proceeded anyway in the various modalities of our existence. The idea that we mature into a singular style and personality is growing old. We are a generation that sees ourselves in duplicate and triplicate. We take on the contradictions of being serious and being playful.