Intent

I feel sadness.

It’s a rare day when I can say that. I can be annoyed quite a bit, I’ve been increasingly angry. But sadness is the most uncommon thing, and it’s been very much present the past few days.

I’ve been mentally pointing accusing fingers at caffeine, hormones, the weather…I’ve no idea where to place any blame. I settled on the idea that it must be all that has happened suddenly suffocating me at once. And looking back now I remember feeling that it would come to this.

I started posting private vlogs on a new e-mail, thinking it might help. But my need to hide them from nearly everyone has made them useless to me. So I suppose I need to start posting them publicly.

A few days ago I felt a sudden steel certainty that I had to change things. I am 20 now. I need to start actively creating and working towards a life where I can make money doing things I enjoy. That day was the beginning of this sadness.

Maybe there’s a part of my subconscious that feels like a failure? A failure as an artist, and as all else? Maybe that’s why I had an extreme emotional reaction to someone’s casual joke about my drawing of a large eye. I felt that it confirmed something. I ran off and took a shower of all things, and I had my different feelings battle themselves out in my head. What it meant, what my reaction meant, what it all means.

I collapse on the inside when I imagine the possibility of going to school, graduating, and then filling a slot that someone wrote out for me to do. You know, an office job or something. Some set of daily tasks that someone else created. A position that makes me replaceable. Even jobs that I used to dream about. WitSec agent, criminal profiler, psychologist. They’re names for sets of tasks.

I want to feel free.

More and more I don’t feel free, I don’t feel that I’m throwing wide the door. And I think it creates a deep panic, like the walls are closing in on me to crush me. It’s going so far against what my nature has been clawing for ever since I was 11. But what else is there to do? I’m not going anywhere, and I need stability. I need to recover and clear my mental fog.

It’s almost a scary thing sometimes. More and more it’s a scarier thing. Like there’s something really wild in the marrow of my bones and all it wants is free reign and adventure. It wants an enormous canvas and whatever stupid colors I feel like using, and it wants to paint whatever the heck it wants without feeling anxious about whether or not it’ll sell, about whether or not there’s a market for someone like me and my work. There’s a market for everyone! I say to myself. Yes, yes there is. But the issue is whether or not it’s a big enough market to let me be free. To supply things adult humans need to go on and do what we’d like.

I haven’t been truly inspired for over a month now, I paint and draw eyes when I can’t think of anything else. Because you can do so much with eyes.

I used to draw beautiful dresses. I can’t draw them anymore. I’ve lost that completely. Ever since I had a short spat with bulimia and made a new promise to myself to stay strong against it (which resulted in my drawing here, Effects of Thinspo) I can’t view female figures the same way.

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I’ll begin to sketch an ideal hips-to-waist ratio and then my hands go against the desire to make something perfect.

NO! They shout, what is perfection?

Perhaps I want to paint something everyone will view as lovely?

Anything can be viewed as lovely. An ugly face with the right personality is lovely.

Ideal figures will sell more.

Why do you want to make crap that’ll sell?

Because I freaking need to. 

Why?

So I won’t be trapped working as a secretary or a waitress at a normal freaking job and die a nobody. That’s why.

Sincerity sells. Just be sincere in your art.

That didn’t sell very well before.

Do you want to become someone by making things everyone approves of? Is creativity your cash ticket now? Is that what art is to you now? Is it your tool?

I need to begin somewhere.

And so the battle will rage on for a while until I stare at the boxy or disproportionate figure on my little canvas in front of me and I want to scream and throw something. Time, time, time. So quickly there is no time. My hands won’t obey me. At least, they try, but can’t get far anymore.

Trapped, incapable.

I feel so…agitated. I feel that I’m capable of so much. Why can’t I make the things I know I can? Why does it have to turn into an internal war?

There’s a documentary I’ve been planning for years now, but I’m always so torn about starting it because I can feel my intent surrounding its creation quickly morphing from sincere to…other things. Imagining the attention, the process, the possible cash flow. How cold and sick and odd of me. And I always decide against starting it because I want to make something that large only if I’m determined in the beauty of it.

I know myself. I know that I’ll keep pressing on, keep trying and eventually I’ll reach a brainplace that lets me create, once I stop demanding inspiration.

As for all else happening, it seems that it’s just a tsunami of feels about everything that has happened since I moved to WV, and it’s simply something to ride out.

I’ll be fine.

I’m just a very frustrated, very sad, quite scared human at the moment. I’ve not changed to this darkness for good. I can feel that.

<^_^>

In Motion

Phooey, where to begin?

I’m in West Virginia.

I live here now.

I have an awesome roommate, I like my house, I’m happy about the job I recently got.

I’m worried about getting comfortable when it comes to the things I want to accomplish in life, I’m worried about starting to tell myself “I have time.” or “I’m so young.”

While being interviewed for one job they mentioned the benefits that employees get after one year of working for the company.

And I found myself actually shaking my head a little, the thought of staying with one job for a whole year is impossible for me now. I stayed with Toys “R” Us in California for a year because I had a very clear goal in mind, I had my list of priorities and getting my life straight and steady while prepping to move to West Virginia was at the top of my list.

And I’m here now. And I have the things I need (except for my car, which I won’t have for a bit longer, but the bus system in Morgantown is spectacular.)

I just need to focus on pumping out any type of creative content frequently. There is a large project of mine I’m going to try to finally set in motion, which will likely require a little help from my Internet peoples.

And I’m going to work harder at selling my stuff, and painting and drawing things that might actually sell.

I have hope. I just need to remember to never tell myself, “I have time.”

Act Natural

Today I dropped off my pieces for Art Hop, which is in three days. 

It was cool walking into the art house and seeing a lot of pieces from other artists laying against walls and on tables. 

I was struck with a feeling of inferiority. Every artist being featured is so much more experienced than I am (I’ve hardly been painting 5 months.) And their able to show these profound depths of their imaginations very vividly. It’s striking. And I felt silly, standing waiting for my turn to register my pieces. Everyone else around me has obviously superior talent and they looked comfortable. Relaxed. They looked like they belonged. They even dressed like you’d expect artsy creative people to dress. And I could feel very clearly that my demeanor and the canvases I held made me stick out.

What pleasantly surprised me was I was treated with kindness and patience. It didn’t occur to me until I interacted with a couple of them that they might be thinking about when they were at the stage I’m at now. That they might not see me as inferior.

I’m just impatient to step up to the level where I belong. Seeing the pieces I did today inspired me and started up a new drive to get to a new place mentally where I can be on par with the ‘grown up’ artists.

I’m excited.

 

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I’ve started making things a lot.
Or maybe I could have said ‘I’ve been making a lot of things.’

Fiverr has given me enough extra income to act as a second part-time job that I can do from my couch. And the fact that each order requires a piece of new creativity has sparked a desire to be creative in other ways.

(For those who don’t know, I sell letters. I coffee stain pages, wrinkle them, burn them, and I write encouraging letters using my typewriter before sealing them, wrapping them with string and sending them out.)

I’ve been going to the park and painting. I’ve always wanted to try to paint, but I never started because I thought I could feel in my gut that I wouldn’t be very good.

But then I started falling in love with art and artists. And I realized there’s a market for everyone. And no one has the authority to define what art might be.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Ze Frank, it’s that one should chase that happy and hold onto it. And making things makes me happy. And I think I’m getting over my fear of people ripping my self-confidence apart. Because I know it’s awesome. Because I finally feel awesome.

And so I have been drawing, and I’ve been writing, and I’ve been painting. And I want to start molding. A few years ago for an anatomy and physiology class, to explain certain brain functions, I made a brain out of clay.

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I miss making stuff out of clay.

So I’m going to start doing that again. And very likely try to make some money from it.

As for the paintings, they aren’t pretty. I repeat: are not pretty. But each has a story, and each one is an image of one of my feelings.

This is the feeling that I am feeling many things at once, and I feel a mushy mix of emotions. When I tried to think of an emotion to show, I just thought “I feel human.”
And so the name and the piece were created.
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And this one was inspired by the feeling of being overstimulated by your environment or mental chaos, and the desire for the world to go silent as someone shouts “It’s a flying house!”

A world of stillness.
Quiet.
A world of a single moment of curious suspense.
And awe.

A smaller voice asks, “Can we build one?”

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and this little bitty one was created for a friend, it is for their sister in bootcamp in the Navy. So I painted a dress, and an arm with an anchor tattoo (friend’s idea.)

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So there’s that. Along with my letters.
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I’m also still struggling to put together the first vlog in a series I’d like to do. We’ll see. This is going to be an excellent year. ^_^