It's Jeri. I just want to say I'm really glad you're trying again. I'm proud of you for doing that, and I genuinely hope that it gets less painful. Contrary to what your Dad may have thought, or what you may have thought of him, no one is born out of the womb drawing like that. It's learning. When he was ten years old his art probably looked like a ten year olds art as well. Mine did, too. Love you and please talk to me about it any time you want. I'm you're cheering team<3--Anonymous
-curls around- Thank you honey. You really mean the world to me you know. I just hope it gets easier soon. Keeping up with this is really hard right now. We shall see what there is to see, I suppose.0 notes |
So I suppose, since I’ve just started the blog and all, I should probably actually explain why I am the way I am about art. You see, I actually do a lot of textile work, and I’m even pretty proud of it. I’ve been asked to teach classes, and people will even try to buy things I’m wearing, straight off of me.
Referring to that as ‘art’, considering myself an ‘artist’…
…is actually physically painful to me. Quite literally. It starts feeling like someone’s punched me in the stomach, and then my head starts to pound, tension headaches and nausea ahoy!
I had the luxury of growing up in a town that had an art museum, and one with free admission at that. My family would go in and look at the antique paintings and sculptures and furniture, there were even small sections of truly ancient art from Greece and Egypt and China.
And… Then there was the ‘fashion’ wing and textile art.
Eww, why is that here? It’s just clothing, jeeze, get over yourselves. Talk about arrogant, what kind of designer is so self-absorbed that they think that junk counts as ART? Get out! We’re not wasting time in here, it’s just a bunch of advertising for overpriced labels!!!
There was the ‘modern’ art and abstracts section, with sculptures that consisted entirely of balancing used furniture on top of each other and things like that…
Ah yes, the gallery of charlatans who were too useless to make REAL art, so they started selling this rubbish to whatever poor fool was stupid enough to think it was art. Take a good look at this pile of junk, make sure you know that anything like it will NEVER be acceptable to anyone other than a retard.
I’m not sure when it stopped being my parents’ voices and started being my own thoughts. But oh god is it my own thoughts, now more than ever. Whenever I finish a knit or crochet piece, I… Well. I go obsessively praise hunting, because it’s so goddamn hard to drown out the chorus.
Oh, you played with string for a while, how nice. Did you knit a wooly jumper like your granny? Have you ever heard of anyone who was pleased to get a home made “gift”? Until you’re able to compete with machine made, it’s not going to be worth anything. Look, your stitches are irregular. And you know the whole thing’s going to come apart soon enough.
This on top of another particular ‘quirk’ of mine. I think we’ve all seen the post about the ‘Gifted and Talented’ programs and why it’s such utter bullshit, why ‘gifted’ kids rarely turn out well. I’ll open by quoting coolguyhat:
This “genius” can’t pass Intro to Biology 1010, because no one ever taught her proper studying techniques—they just assumed she already knew. This “genius” cries herself to sleep over a B in an difficult science class. This genius faces crippling anxiety because she knows she’ll never measure up to people’s expectations of her. This “genius” sometimes cuts herself because the pressure to be perfect is too much for her. This “genius” feels like throwing herself off a building if she gets anything less than a B, because she’s been taught her whole life that if she doesn’t get perfect grades it is some sort of character flaw; she must be a worthless idiot.
My father was a Real Artist. He did sketches and paintings that looked so real, you’d swear they’d start moving. When I was ten years old, I did drawings and paintings that looked… like they’d been done by a ten year old kid. You don’t understand. This was Not Okay. My father was a Real Artist. So why wasn’t my art also amazingly realistic?
I was ten years old.
But my father was a Real Artist. I grew up surrounded by paintings, had portraits drawn of me from the time I was old enough to sit still, lived and breathed colour theory. Why wouldn’t my hands copy what I saw? That was Not Okay. In fact that was really rather Bad. It couldn’t be that I needed practise. No, practise was for the Dumb Kids, kids that weren’t Special like me, kids that wouldn’t ever amount to anything. I was Different. I was Special. My father was a Real Artist.
And I couldn’t do it.
Clearly, that meant that I was broken.
Broken beyond repair, defective from birth, probably. Damaged goods. Nothing worth having, nothing anybody would want. And it’s not like practise would improve it any. What’s practise? Making the same mistakes over and over again and wondering why it’s full of mistakes? My father always taught me that the definition of insanity was to do the same thing over and over and expect different results, so why bother practising something I’m already not good at?
can’t do it not good enough never good enough never be good enough broken worthless dirty rubbish
I threw out everything that year.
Instead, I learned to crochet, to knit, something to keep my hands busy, but you know, my favourite thing to do is to look at art. Real Art, you know, paintings and drawings, things that are realistically done, even if it’s fantasy or sci fi art. But only to look, to stare at, sometimes to commission artists to draw the pieces that are exploding in my mind, that my
worthless, dirty, broken hands are too pathetic unable to create.
But you know, after sixteen years, I know for certain that I’m improving at what I do. I create my own patterns, make lace, all manner of things that I’ve actually learned how to be somewhat proud of
even if it’s just playing with string. I just… Why should I be proud of being good at something I couldn’t care less about, when I can’t even do the things I WANT to do?
So I’ve finally decided to try again, after all this time, and see if repetition gets me somewhere.
But you guys really, really, really don’t know how fucking painful it is. I don’t care how good-for-a-beginner my stuff is. It’s still worthless. And I’m not fishing for compliments, that’s something I honestly believe, so strongly that I feel nauseous looking at the things I drew today, so strongly that I want to punch a wall whenever people say it’s nice. I just want to scream, and scream and scream, can’t you see how terrible it is? Can’t you see the mistakes? Who CARES if a couple parts of it look decent? It’s still just worthless rubbish. Certainly not Real Art.3 notes |
You JUST started? You may not be an instant prodigy, but the art I see on there is far from something that sucks. ESPECIALLY that painting. Please tell me you at least had a visual reference for that, otherwise maybe you are a prodigy.
LMAO yes, it was a pre-printed canvas, basically a grown-up’s paint-by-number.0 notes |
Hey look, I tried something without copying anything. Note how it’s significantly simpler. ¬_¬ Anyway, that’s all for today, I packed it in after that.0 notes |
Last attempt at copying from the paper today. I think this is way too difficult so far.1 note |
Another attempt at copying out of the newspaper. Look at that nose it’s hideous.
And no, I’m not buying a scanner until I have something worth scanning.1 note |
First thing I’ve drawn in ~16 years. Funny story about that, and by funny I mean really sad and pathetic. :| Let’s not.
Copied from a photo and abandoned partway through because I didn’t like it. I’m not sure what my style is yet but this wasn’t nice.1 note |
Here we go here we go here we go~! It’s the first thing I’ve painted. Ever. Not counting being a little kid in primary school playing in the finger paints.
I’m looking at that very bottom, leftish centre flower and those two fused petals, and how obvious and overdone the pollen is. I’ll probably touch up those petals, but iunno about the rest. I think I’m gonna call it good after that.
Acrylic paints and a pre-printed canvas, gotta start somewhere.3 notes |