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When I was a young turk I remember this little short fat balding guy at Publix and how he felt it was his job to personally make my life a living hell. He hated that I was tall, hated that I liked comics, hated that I was an art major, hated that I had a thick head of hair. I think he felt this way because he was a pudgy little turd who was insecure about himself and was threatened by me. He loved making sure that every demeaning job he could think of got assigned to me, a homeless guy walks into the bathroom, eats a bottle of pickled eggs and makes it smell like a smelting plant, I had to clean it. Milk spilt in the dairy cooler, I had to go clean it. I try to initially be friendly with everyone but point blank this guy was a tremendous prick. I recently found some of his art work on line and I find it almost poetic how amateurish and awful it is.
I’m not trying to take pleasure in the lack of talent he posses, most of his portfolio consists of world of warcraft inspired drivel. I am using this man’s lack of talent to prove a larger point and that is no matter what field a person aspires to they must never become satisfied; they should always be hungry.
I don’t confess to being anything special or that I posses a great skill. I recognize that most of my output is muddy, convoluted, and amateurish; but occasionally something good comes out and I try to constantly improve because I want to produce something that speaks to the best of my abilities and create something that could be considered good. I once drew things that were wooden and awkwardly posed, with no sense of composition or flair. I cringe when I open a sketch book because they are awful, but I plugged along and wanted to get better. When I look at things I have done last year I am still sort of amazed by the amount of crap that slipped through, but I also occasionally find something I really like, and that makes me feel slightly hopeful. I feel that way because practice is the only way to get better at any thing. I also feel a little bit glad, I am glad that I had the courage to listen to my teachers, and when they said something didn’t work I didn’t shut them out but listened to them and sought ways to improve. I am also glad that my curiosity has allowed me the patience to research and discover new ideas, and make me thing in new directions that I wouldn’t normally feel obliged to follow.
The best advice I can give to anyone is practice. There are times I admit that my black dog makes it impossible for me to do anything other then stare at the wall, but even then I force my self to just draw.
My great fear is that I end up sort of comfortable and just coast on what ever imaginary skills I think I posses. I feel restless about many things in my life but the one thing I don’t want to do is just settle. It gets easier when you are older because the excuses we make seem more valid and thoughtful, but I know the one inch I can never give in on is my want to be an artist. I hear so many people come up to me and say I used to paint when I was younger, and I don’t want to be that guy. Being creative is the only outlet I have, it’s my happiness and how I define myself and I can’t fathom ever just tossing my self away in the bin like that. I have many things in my life I am ashamed of, but ultimately I want to walk into the hall of my ancestors unashamed.