I hope going to June Lake again this year will do me some good. The problem is that I'll be alone. Again. Lots of trails to go hiking on but no one to go with. Lots of lakes to fish in, though it'll just be me and my dad. Maybe my brother. I'm all right with that.
I don't want to abandon art, but I keep feeling like it isn't for me. I like the tactile process of art more than the subject or end result of creating something. I just like making lines on paper, watching ink bleed into the pulp, or dragging a paintbrush across a canvas, studying the way it leaves the bristles and enters the contours of the canvas' texture. I like watching the paint come together. I like mixing it, adding liquin and experimenting with brush thicknesses and other painting implements. But then I need to use it, and it is here that I am lost.
It is beyond frustrating. I stare at white papers, white walls, blank slates, clean spaces, and I want to dirty and color it all, to fill every inch of it with... something. It's a compulsion I cannot fight and have never tried to. The problem arises in that I have no idea what to fill it all with. There's nothing of value, expression, strength, message, beauty, or skill that I can think to fill it with. I feel that compulsion so deeply but no ideas to feed it, so I bow my head and pass on the opportunity to someone much more skilled and inventive than I.
There's no point in me creating art. My art doesn't say anything. It doesn't even profess a keen knowledge of anatomy or composition or perspective... all of the technicalities of art have been lost to me. They're sloppy and haphazard. I just don't "get" it. I feel like my spatial knowledge is dwindling because I've spent the last five years in front of a two dimensional screen, touching no one, feeling no one, speaking to no one except those who call on me. School consists of walking in straight lines, head down, on my way to class where I sit and stare and stare and stare and stare and try to translate this foreign dimension into one of disgusting familiarity. I'm sick of it. I'm told that I should make art about these feelings, these whiny, worthless feelings about being lonely and disconnected from the planet and the pulse of life that everyone seems to draw from. I don't want to sit at home making a piece about how I'm disconnected from people. I want to connect to people.
Maybe I'm just not scared enough anymore to make art. I used to draw because I had no friends and no one liked me, so I sat in the tree wells and imagined a world where things were better. I was a little bit better at drawing than my peers and they praised me for it, so I did what I thought people liked me for. I got pleasure from drawing because it was validated and because I liked making things that people liked. Not only did I find something I liked doing, but people liked me for doing it. Now all I focus on every night is that I'm another tick closer to death and that I can't spend my limited time on the planet fucking wishing things were better or making up imaginary places where they're better. I have to actually, actively, make things better. Actively make friends and go places and see things that already exist here and now. The only times I get an inkling to draw are when I'm bored to tears or confronted with a blank space. Nothing in my environment screams "Draw me!" anymore. Well, except for you know who.
Of course this all ties in to how I can't just sit around wishing I were a better artist: I have to actively do so. My core problem remains, however, that even if I sharpen these skills to a daunting point, what do I do with them? I guess just commissions. You know, commissions would really fucking help because it'd at least be a push for something, knowing that someone was willing to pay for or even just wanted something I made. Ugh, it's all this stupid shit about how I have to put myself out there and all that, yet it just feels so pointless. Half of the reason why I still pursue this anymore is because I feel like I'm meant to do it. That is, it is both my calling and my obligation. I have absolutely nothing else going for me.
I don't know where I'm going with this; what else is new? I don't know where I'm going at all any more.