Self Belief and External Validation

I do not have an art career. I'm almost certainly never going to have one. It will always be considered a "hobby" by many, many people. That is something (I thought) I came to terms with a long time ago.Turns out coming to terms with such a thing isn't a one and done, mourned and got over it situation. Over time, I allow myself to get drawn in again, and I think maybe this time it can happen. I don't expect to be rich and famous, but I do work that's important to me, and hope that others find meaning in it as well. In the past 5-7 years, that has become a more and more rare event. Some of that is due to trying other creative pursuits and some of that is because I basically stopped drawing. I still had ideas, but sketching them out, fleshing out the sketch, projecting the sketch onto paper and completing it became such an arduous process that eventually, I couldn't even get past the sketch stage. My skills atrophied, which just made finishing anything even more difficult and depressing.

I've started drawing again, along with trying to relearn color theory, trying to bring my drawing skills back up to par, working on being skilled with new mediums and, as ever,  wanting to sell my work. A little crumb of belief was working it's way back, and I began to believe that some semblance of a career was possible. 

I'll back up a bit. When I was younger, I did a drawing that I was SO proud of. When I showed it to my mother (who I love(d) dearly) she said it wasn't one of my best. I was crushed, and I have never forgotten it. Granted, I am quite sensitive, and like most artists, criticism about my artwork is painful to hear. 

After I finished art school, I had all the belief in the world that if I worked hard, and sent out enough feelers, I would eventually land a deal as a children's book illustrator. When they didn't pan out, I was sad, but was able to pick myself up relatively quickly. I focused on writing and illustrating my own children's book. I self published on Amazon for Kindle, and did as much promotion as I knew how to do at that time (in retrospect, it was nowhere near enough). The book failed miserably. I think to this day, I have sold  5-10 copies for which i earned about .10 each. When I asked a successful children's book illustrator that I was acquainted with what he thought the problem was, he told me my work wasn't good enough, that I wasn't "special" or "unique" enough. I received that news during lunch break at my full time job and ran to the restroom where I proceeded to sob hysterically for almost an hour. A co-worker told me that he was an idiot and questioned why I was taking his opinion to heart. It's a good question for which I had no real answer. 

Recently, I had a discussion with my husband about the possibility of quitting my job and doing art full time. It didn't go well. He wasn't as supportive as I hoped or expected. Of course, I realize that walking away from a full time job is completely reckless and irresponsible.There is additional context that I don't want to elaborate on right now. Suffice it to say, there is an actual reason I would basically be forced to do that. But again, I was devastated. 

These incidents (among many others) made me think about external validation; our need for it (social media likes and follows, even this blog post that will be seen by almost no one), and how it affects sensitive, creative people. It's hurtful when complete strangers don't like your work, but it's 100 times worse when it's someone whose opinion matters to you. But why? Why is our belief in ourselves, our skills, our  artwork, even our process so fragile? How can the opinions of a few people be so crushing? I envy those who can take in the criticism, learn from it and move on. I'm not there yet, but there's always tomorrow. 

Here I sit, a few days after the election. Angry. Grieving. Trying to think and function, woefully  unable to do either, feeling like my brain is stuffed with cotton candy. Thoughts begin and peter out to nowhere.Thoughts on how I could sell my art, things I should be doing in the moment like cleaning my tiny apartment, or working on the refresher courses I finally admitted I needed. Mostly, thoughts on how to handle this current moment and what I know is to come. None of it amounts to anything. None of it can be resolved.I cannot feel or think about anything other than the insane, irrational, absolutely righteous anger and utter betrayal I have been feeling since early Tuesday evening. 

It was obvious almost from the beginning that this election was not going to end how so many of us had hoped. I feel rage not only for those who voted for… well, we all know what he is, but also rage at myself! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have gotten my hopes up? I let my guard down, and allowed myself to believe that this country was finally going to do the right thing. That people who had never before voted in the interest of others would realize that we are all part of this collective called America and we needed to fight for each other, not just our own self interests. And damn, I was spectacularly wrong. 

If I’m being generous, it’s clear how I got this so wrong. I’m not unaware that I live in somewhat of a bubble (as most of us do), but I listen to and see some of what’s happening on the other side. It just all seemed so completely absurd to me, I couldn’t fathom that more than a handful of people could possibly fall for it! Afterall, they were seeing and hearing the same things that I was; a man spouting gibberish about another mans junk, saying incredibly horrible, racist things about a woman who cleaned his clock in a debate so badly that he refused to do another. A VP candidate calling women childless cat ladies and basically suggesting if we weren’t going to pop out babies on the regular that we were worthless. How could anyone really want to put those people in charge? And yet… here we are. For those who chose this, I hope that cheaper box of cereal will be worth it to you. FYI, NOTHING is going to be cheaper, but I suspect his supporters will feel it is, and perception is reality right?

In my own little bubble, I can see the grief etched on the faces of so many, feel it viscerally in the comments on stories and articles. It feels like rejection, repudiation of not only women, but black women in particular. 72,000,000+ people decided that it was ok for women to die in childbirth or miscarriages gone wrong. That babies should be born even if they are going to suffer and die within moments of their birth. That it’s ok to ruthlessly deport the people they called  “essential workers” during the worst of the Covid pandemic. To force LGBTQ and trans folk back into the closet and to criminalize trans care. All of this was better than electing a highly qualified Black/South Asian woman. 

Don’t get me wrong, she was absolutely NOT my first choice, and I spent a great deal of time being frustrated with the immediate rightward turn she took, her recently changed stances, her refusal to put distance between herself and the man who had so obviously aged in his 4 years in office, not to mention her lack of specificity on issues I care a great deal about. But she was a hell of a lot better than what we thought we were going to have before “the switch” and unquestionably better than the alternative. 

The VP choice was stellar. A completely normal mid-western guy who believed in serving the people of his state. How crazy and utterly novel! A man who believed in feeding starving children, not vilifying them because of their poverty. A man who could easily talk about fixing cars one minute and chat with voters about the vagaries of agriculture and farming the next. Instead, we now have someone who literally wants to be a Gilead commander. 

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?? That is the question so many are trying (and failing) to answer. I believe it was a great number of things, and we are doing a disservice to the candidate and to ourselves if we refuse to admit that racism and misogyny played an outsized role, but they weren’t the only reasons for this debacle.Turns out, 107 days to run against someone who has been campaigning for what feels like an eternity is probably too short of a window. Amd campaigning with literal warmongers who voted with your opponent 90% of the time just might alienate your base a wee tiny bit. The autopsy on this will likely go on for quite some time, and I suspect all the wrong lessons will be learned and applied in 2-4 years, assuming we’re even allowed to have elections then. The next question is NOW WHAT? That’s where I am at the moment. Completely stuck. Not seeing a way through or out. Unable to go backward or forward. 

I haven’t posted to this blog in about 9 years, which is shocking to me. But it seems fitting that what  killed my creativity in 2016 is threatening to do it again in 2024. I am fighting it with all my might, but guys, I am tired. I am tired of turning the other cheek, tired of code switching, of being the bigger person, of moving over on the sidewalk so someone else can take up that space as if they have a right to it and I do not. Tired. Tired. TIRED! I know that I am not alone in those feelings. And I know that I am essentially screaming into the void with this post, but I don’t care, because it feels good to get it out. I have spent days crying and raging, listening, reading and trying to understand what the actual hell happened. All I can do now is this.This little ole, pointless blog that reaches basically no one. This somewhat cathartic void screaming. I hope it will eventually help me find my way through the cotton candy and back to my life, my art, myself. 

Frankenstein and Bela

Happy Saint Patricks Day!!

Duckie drawing to celebrate the holiday.

Portrait Commission

About a month ago, I was commissioned to do 4 full size pastel portrait drawings.

Mom 

Dad

 

Baby

  pup

After seeing the drawing of his daughter, the client said I have a gift from God. Easily the nicest, most touching comment I have ever received. 

The Forgotten Passing

With all the news coverage surrounding the tragic death of Robin Williams, I feel the passing of Lauren Bacall was overlooked. Here's my homage to a great siren of the silver screen.

Lauren Bacall

charcoal on toned paper

16.5 x 21

Rocky Horror Picture Show

Rocky Horror Picture Show tribute

charcoal and pastel on canson paper

10x12

Lately, I've been watching so many artists on you tube and facebook who can draw amazing, tiny drawings (think baseball card size) on a completely flat surface, and I've been trying to force myself to work that way.

This piece was drawn at a slanted easel on my desk. I have a tendency to be very tight whenever I work any place other than my big standing easel, though I know from having it drummed into my head repeatedly in figure drawing class that you need to have free range of motion when you're drawing. My pencil grip is completely different when I work at my desk, and inevitably, something on the drawing is off. This piece was no exception. More than 24 hours after finishing, I noticed the left eye is higher and larger than the right. It's not a huge difference, barely noticeable actually, but it was driving me crazy, so I corrected it in Photoshop, and increased the contrast slightly.

I have come to the realization that comparing yourselves to others is generally a waste of time. My method is my method, and I'm going to honor it, even if that means squeezing my giant easel into the teeny tiny corner of my apartment that has been converted into my "studio!