For many years, the only things I created were costumes for other people (I made them for myself as well, but they were never near as good as the ones I made for others) and journals full of my emotions. Lately, I've started thinking a lot about the story ideas rattling around in my head. And the long-silent whisper has woken up and is nipping at my mind, telling me I should bring one (or all) of them to life. I doubt it would go anywhere, since I'm iffy about showing any of my work to others, but a lot of my writing has been for me. The act of creating something is what makes me happy, not any potential praise or glory that may come with the finished product. Even writing here has sparked something in me. These entries are less about pure, emotive writing and a bit more about observations and inspiration. This feels more like actual writing, rather than vomiting forth the strife that was in my head and heart.
Which brings me to the second type of creating that I've done a bit of. A few months ago, I picked up a small, cheap sketch pad. The idea was not to create masterpieces, but to just doodle and see what happened. The first page contains a couple of absolutely horrible attempts at womens' faces. I've never been good at faces and I KNOW this, but of course, I have to set myself up for failure from the get go. The second page had a drawing based off an Arthur Rackham illustration. It's more of a landscape. I started this a couple of months ago and again, I thought it sucked so I gave up on it. Tonight, I flipped open the book and looked at that second page again. I picked up the pencil and started playing with some shading on a tree. I kept going with it, and ended up shading a bit of the background. Two hours later, I'm kind of happy with the way it's coming. There are two parts of it that I'm still stuck on (which equals roughly 1/2 of the drawing), but the rest of it looks okay. It is rather rudimentary and probably not very good, but it certainly is better than it was. I also see my style in this drawing. When I was young, I drew a lot. I had somewhat of a distinct style that I could always recognise, like my own handwriting. Seeing it emerge again after so many years made me feel pretty good. Not only that, but two hours flew by and I didn't even notice, because I was so engrossed in what I was doing, and I enjoyed it so much.
I'm not sure if anyone will ever see this particular drawing, though. I'm still me, which means the thought of showing this to a real artist, like my love, intimidates me. I'm very self-conscious about everything I create and I never think others are going to think it's any good. I've been given praise on my writing and drawing/painting in the past, but I still highly doubt that I have any skill or talent. I do it because I enjoy it, much like those people who howl away to the car stereo because they enjoy singing, not because they're good.
I've got a bit more confidence in myself. With that, I'm able to allow myself to create again. I'm able to do things I enjoy doing. For a long time, whenever I tried, I'd get frustrated, destroy what I was working on, and give up. I think I've found another piece of me.
I have the support and encouragement of my love, which means the world to me. He is the air and I am the fire. For a long time, I was stifled, starving. His entering my life has rekindled me. His love feeds me. Where once there were dim embers, a roaring flame has emerged. I needed air to breathe and to grow. He is my air, he is what nourishes me and inspires me. He has helped me to reawaken that which was inside all along, and he is a big reason to keep this going.
Yeah, all of this because of a half-finished drawing. I can see it now, this one's going to have a fancy name that has nothing to do with what it actually is. And that's just fine with me.
No comments:
Post a Comment