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Mar. 3rd, 2009 04:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
okami_huWhy the fuck do I even try...?
Drawing and writing is my life, those things kept me sane through the years when I was the stupid, the geek and the weirdo, and the ungrateful child. I love art. I love doing it. And I try to get better, ask for advice, learn from my mistakes. I want to be a designer, make money of the stuff I do. I want to have an art-related job, because that'd make me truly happy, and it'd be like a fucking awesome joyride instead of _WORK_.
But fuck it, I suck. I'm too old, I'll never get the skill I'd need to do anything serious, and my talent, while I do have some, is still lacking. Back when I was nineteen, I saw somebody's drawing, and I said: I want to do this. I want to be this good.
From that time on, I was drawing, I kept poking photoshop, I gathered how-to-draws and what did I achieve...? I managed to surpass a hobby artist who used a marker to outline and knew how to slap premade textures on the background. Oh joy.
Ten years had passed and I still don't know shit. Like, half the anatomy I know, I picked it up during the last three months because I was afraid that the guys on the Chan would murder me if I posted bishies. It's not fucking improvement, it's downright pathetic.
And all the people who know me and don't know shit about art, keep drooling over my fucked up sketches and claim that I should do more and I should try art school or art jobs. I want to shoot them with a sawed-off shotgun, repeatedly. I've grown up and I can see now that my life was built upon a fucking lie. I know nothing, just how to do shitty sketches. My anatomy sucks, my coloring is flawed. I lack the talent to see what really counts, the skill to pull it off and the creativity to design anything. I've wasted ten fucking years for a fucking glass castle. I should walk up to the river and have a talk with those few remaining fishes.
And I'm too much of a moron to care. I refuse to stop drawing, I refuse to take it like an adult; I'll just go back to the shattered glass castle, sit down and dream about an artist career. I'll continue to waste my life away waiting for a miracle that'll never come.
Fuck it. Don't talk to me.
I'll be in my coffin with the pink wig.
Drawing and writing is my life, those things kept me sane through the years when I was the stupid, the geek and the weirdo, and the ungrateful child. I love art. I love doing it. And I try to get better, ask for advice, learn from my mistakes. I want to be a designer, make money of the stuff I do. I want to have an art-related job, because that'd make me truly happy, and it'd be like a fucking awesome joyride instead of _WORK_.
But fuck it, I suck. I'm too old, I'll never get the skill I'd need to do anything serious, and my talent, while I do have some, is still lacking. Back when I was nineteen, I saw somebody's drawing, and I said: I want to do this. I want to be this good.
From that time on, I was drawing, I kept poking photoshop, I gathered how-to-draws and what did I achieve...? I managed to surpass a hobby artist who used a marker to outline and knew how to slap premade textures on the background. Oh joy.
Ten years had passed and I still don't know shit. Like, half the anatomy I know, I picked it up during the last three months because I was afraid that the guys on the Chan would murder me if I posted bishies. It's not fucking improvement, it's downright pathetic.
And all the people who know me and don't know shit about art, keep drooling over my fucked up sketches and claim that I should do more and I should try art school or art jobs. I want to shoot them with a sawed-off shotgun, repeatedly. I've grown up and I can see now that my life was built upon a fucking lie. I know nothing, just how to do shitty sketches. My anatomy sucks, my coloring is flawed. I lack the talent to see what really counts, the skill to pull it off and the creativity to design anything. I've wasted ten fucking years for a fucking glass castle. I should walk up to the river and have a talk with those few remaining fishes.
And I'm too much of a moron to care. I refuse to stop drawing, I refuse to take it like an adult; I'll just go back to the shattered glass castle, sit down and dream about an artist career. I'll continue to waste my life away waiting for a miracle that'll never come.
Fuck it. Don't talk to me.
I'll be in my coffin with the pink wig.
