Aug. 18th, 2003

aintbroke: (in case i'm lost)
And so spake I: eljay themes are proof of unmitigated evil in the world.

I now know that I can in fact, make a soufflé, even on two hours of sleep. Perhaps I should drop this whole "curing cancer" career goal, and just become a chef. And except for the part where I know too much about what chefing is like, this could be workable.

I can cook, yes. But today, I can not draw. I am having the "art hack of the century" day, and if this doesn't let up in the next twelve minutes, I am giving away all my art supplies and moving to Bora Bora. (I may move to Bora Bora anyway. I have just found out what rent prices there are like, and man, that is something I can afford. Plus, you know, beaches! Beaches are good. Also, Bora Bora has a stunning dearth of intro to Cell Biology classes, which can not be a bad thing. I know in the back of my head that there must be a downside, but at present, I am not seeing it.)

The thing about being a quote-artist-unquote is that people expect art of you. Cards, and gifts, and random occasions they say things like "You should draw that for me!" Most of the time I don't mind, for one reason or another, because sketches are fun, and people like them. Sometimes I feel resentful, because I don't ask them to account or process mergers for me, and it's really the same thing (only not).

Some days it's really easy to draw, and it comes out naturally, and you feel like you can call yourself an artist, and not a compulsive doodler (which, frankly, is what I am). But most of the time, I'm not in the vicious practice that I have to be in, not enough hours at a light table, not enough time in a figure drawing class, not enough time with a brush in my hand.

Art isn't like riding a bike, it's like archery. Just because you remember the basic motions doesn't mean you can hit the bulls eye. I took the summer off from art. (Nothing since Naked!Potter painting, aside from five minute postcard sketches from Spain.)

I got back, and fell right into the comicing groove with Alli-o. Hey man, I can comic. I can draw my simple lines, forget everything I ever learned about shading and proportions, pretend that I have any training working in pen and ink. I comic the way some people write drabbles. Short, sweet, to the point.

I think that comics (comic books, graphic novels, illustrated, illuminated manuscripts) are the height of story telling. Pictures and words! Together! Working for the good of all! But artistically, (even at their best) your canvas is tiny, and you have to fit the panel borders in somehow, so you have to simplify. You do not draw fingernails.

I don’t know where I was going with this rant thing, except to say that I can not paint today. My comic-able-ablity has not, in any way, translated into being competent in any other form. I’m not asking for a reassurance. I need no hugs and “Of course you can draw”s, because today it would be a joke.

I would be a good ranter, except that I forget what the heck I’m talking about half way to making my point.
aintbroke: (Default)
HOLAY SWEET MOTHER OF SOMEONE VERY IMPORTANT.

I just found a picture of myself on gettyimages. HOW WEIRD IS THAT?

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