Friday, January 7, 2011
It’s Friday night, everybody is in bed, and I am sitting alone in my living room, listening to music with my dusty and neglected sketchbook immediately to my left. I have a bag of various pencils, erasers, and blending sticks off to my right (alongside a can of Mountain Dew). Oh, and all around me? A horrible, creeping feeling of failure mixed with some "What the hell happened?" for good measure.
You see, growing up, drawing was my “thing.” I was always told that I was “talented” or that I “could go somewhere” when it came to my "art" (I am using the term VERY loosely here). I drew every single day for years. I remember this one time when I flipped my shit upon realizing that I had run out of paper, and I insisted that my dad take me to the local Wal-Mart rightfuckingthen so I could buy more and continue on with my arthritis-inducing hobby. (Don’t look like that -- we were already in the car and it was on the way!) I had always said that my goal was to one day have my artwork grace the cover of Wizard magazine at least once, and to laugh at everyone who ever said I would fail, or that my art was nothing but “stupid cartoons” when I finally made it big in the comics world.
As you know, things change. We get older, become more realistic, and have to dedicate pretty much every waking hour to taking care of the things necessary for our survival (or the survival of others). My drawing became less and less of my “thing." I got a job. I got a boyfriend (who would later become my husband and the father of mah kidz). I got busy. Despite all of these things, I still had a desire to sit down and draw, and when I had a moment, I would try to pull something out of thin air the way I had once been able to – to no avail. Somewhere along the line, I realized that my work would never be “good enough,” and I became jaded as fuck. I would see the artwork of others and, instead of feeling inspired, I would wonder how and why my stupid cartoons were nowhere near the level of these younger, more talented people despite the years and years I had dedicated to honing my skills.
zazzle.comYou wouldn't burn this either, would you?
And, so, here I am, with my sketchbook by my side and an intense desire to burn it in a blaze of glory. Or un-glory, rather. Honestly, the only thing keeping me from doing so is the bomb-ass Sirius Black wanted poster sticker plastered front and center. Even though I have felt that familiar spark of wanting/needing to draw something over the last few days, I haven’t been able to produce a goddamn thing. Before this, the last time I actually sat down to draw something was sometime last January – a shitty fan art of FFVI’s Tina Branford (if you have been following this blog, then you should know by now that I will rampantly fangirl over Final Fantasy VI until the day I DIE, okay?), along with some random reference sketches of Munchkin, and…