░░▒▒▒▓▓▓▒▒▒░░ (masstreble) wrote,

And, gods, you know, I remember what I'm doing up here. Oh, for those of you just tuning in, I'm up in this little town in my home state where I'm getting a degree at a university. Check this out: I'm an art major. YA RLY! I'm supposed to be an artist. "O! Such knowledge we did not have!" you gasp. Then you wonder why you've never seen my work.

Yeah. Exactly. Where is my work, anyhow?

Oh, sure, there's a little on that LJ gallery under... something, I forgot. They're all together, so it shouldn't be hard to find, not much to get lost in anyhow. I think they're tagged as 'original' or something. And a few of you think, "wow, he's not actually that good, and also this stuff is old, so I'll bet he's better now, but where is it all?" Alternatively, you might think, "wow, he's really down on himself, this isn't that bad, and I'll bet he's a lot better now, but where is it all," but you know what? Anybody else's perceptions of my skill by what I have in there are most likely going to be worthless to me. You know why? Because of passion.

OR lack of it. I've been working without joylessly, lovelessly, meaninglessly at it for years now. I spend about a third of the time I ought to doing it.

From what I've been told, I always was the creative sort, but from what I can remember, it started in high school. I'd always loved cartoons, whatever Disney crap that was around, comics, and when I got to high school, I was introduced to other stuff, like webcomics, manga, anime. I thought it was all awesome, and I thought I could add to it all in some way, I thought I had things I wanted to show people, stories I could tell, stuff I wanted to try, and perhaps even a few things I wanted to challenge. So, hell, I started doodling. Gods, I was just terrible, but I was happy with little victories and there was a joy in it. Sure, it sucked that I wasn't good, but that wasn't the point, really. Eventually, a whole bunch of new things gets thrown in: I'm introduced (via school) some people that were my age but pretty skilled at art, and even made that part of their identity, particularly the manga crowd. I was happy for their company. Then I got my own computer and I was blasted with stuff. I got to see mounds of advice, tutorials, communities, the-fandom-that-dares-not-speak-its-name, and just generally a lot of people that shared a few of my goals and hopes.

I don't know what the hell went wrong. I guess I have this prepensity for meaningless anxiety, because pretty soon, I was shy about what I was doing, or at least really conflicted about it. I started worrying about being good. I still loved it, though. That love is still there. Damaged, but still there.

When I got to college, I thought I was going to get a degree that would help me get a job that would sustain me. Ha! I changed my major to Art after a year or so. Ha ha ha! I knew I wasn't good enough, and art classes were kind of soul crushing, but I still did it! How stupid is it, to spend all this energy on something that isn't going to give you a return?

I always used to say, "I'm going to be an illustrator" which turned into "I want to be an illustrator, although it's very hard and I might not be able to do it" and eventually into the realistic "I want to be an illustrator, although it's not really going to happen". Now we're at the honest "I told people that I wanted to be an illustrator, but that's not going to happen and I don't like it as much as I pretended I did".

These days, art is a goddamn chore. College is a goddamn chore. I'm happy this is my last year.

My sculpture instructor asked me what my interests were.

I didn't know anymore.

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