At work the other day, we got in a box with a broken bottle of tomato sauce. I could tell by the mold on the outside of a wet corner that it had been sitting there for a while, and definitely more than a day or two when I opened it. The mold had spread across about a quarter of the bottom and was growing up a half-inch into the air. Also, it was garlic tomato sauce, so you have an idea of the smell. Anyway, looking at that got me thinking about decomposition. We all become fungi when we die, in a way. They say we become angels when we die, too. So here’s a quick sketch of a mushroom angel I did.
I had an idea earlier this week to talk about subtlety, and now I have a much better topic. The short version of the previous idea is that I historically have little interest in subtlety as a reader, and now as an artist I’m wanting to do more of it. I think part of the way people look down on pop art is by using the presence of subtlety as a metric of quality. Not only has some of my favorite art, and some of the best art I’ve seen, been big and loud, but it’s based on a misunderstanding of how different art media work. Written works, whether they be prose or poetry, need to be subtle. Anyone can just say something; a writer is trying to do something more than ramble on about the literal idea, like I am now. A comic, though? What’s the point of literally drawing them a picture if you have to leave everything to guesswork? Comics being compared to prose so much leads to an unfair comparison in that regard. But as an artist, I really want to find every possible game or bit I can when I make a comic, and I’m always challenging myself to do more. So not all of it can or should be the most prominent and out loud aspect, and so subtlety is required. Rather than use it to turn the meaning of my work into a puzzle, I’d use it to add to and reinforce the message.
Thinking about that while struggling to get work done this week has me thinking about my journey as an artist. I’ve been drawing since I was a kid. I used to do it for fun and didn’t really worry about getting better or consider it the centerpiece of my life. I struggled with my mental health through high school and into college, and I wasn’t drawing much at all for a while there. For the last few years, I’ve been more committed to it than ever, and I know I’ve grown in that time. I’ve been keeping up with my goal of drawing at least a little every day for a while, too. I’m now at a point where I’m good enough to know that I’m not very good, and how much farther there is to go. I very much want to get there, to continue to improve and become able to achieve my ambitions.
I’ve run into a big wall, or at least it feels like I’ve been dragging against one for a while. I have very little formal education in art, and so I don’t really know what I’m doing. I enjoy what I make, but what part is good? What part is bad? What are my strengths, and how do I use them? Where do I need, or even want, to improve? I very much feel in the dark. I’ve scrabbled long and hard to get to this point through sheer effort, and I know that’s not gonna cut it. I want to do more, and I want to make a lot of comics – for my own sake, I can’t limp along until I reverse engineer basic art skills for the rest of my life.
Related, I have a hard time actually getting started on art. It’s the thing I want to do, and I enjoy doing it, and when I’m done I know I’ll be really happy. When I think that I should, or even just can, get some work in, I get anxious. I’m so scared of actually making art, or maybe it’s that I’m too self-conscious of it. When I was a kid, I remember drawing as a way to pass time and have fun; today, I can’t draw unless I have a specific idea I want to do, and I have to get permission from myself to do it. It’s choosing to draw because I know I like it and it will be good for me, because I lost drawing for fun. To put the distinction in perspective, I have a friend who has trouble eating. They don’t have much appetite a lot of the time, and know that they need to eat to survive. They make a point of eating at certain times, and make food they’ll enjoy, even though they won’t be hungry or want to eat. That’s me and drawing.
I know there’s a lot of factors that go into my situation. I have a full time job, and I’m not in a position to quit, so I can’t remake my life around art in a fundamental way. I need time to destress and take care of myself; I don’t care what those hustle culture jerks say, I want art to be my life, not my death. I’m also trying to be more aware of how my mind operates, and that forcing myself to work isn’t going to work. I very much want to go places, and to do that, I need to draw more. I also need that to be me wanting to draw more. I need to draw for fun again. I need to know what’s keeping me from that, and how I can clear those obstacles. What am I afraid of? Why do I insist on having a “reason” to draw something? How can I let go of wanting something “more” from my art?
My approach up till now has been to put myself in a pressure cooker, basically. I can’t figure out how to practice or do something for fun, so I give myself a massive project. I get scared, but also can’t back down. As I approach it, I come up with a bunch of other things to add on top. That’s exciting, but it’s not motivating, at least not for very long; I still have to make a point of doing the work. As I go along, I end up learning and growing some. Overall, though, it’s inefficient and directionless. I don’t learn any specific skill, because I don’t go in looking for anything specific. I can’t really quantify what lessons I took, or opportunities I want to take from it. And most importantly, it doesn’t get me any closer to change. Forcing myself to draw a whole comic I’m not prepared to execute on doesn’t make me want to draw for fun. It shows me that I can pull it off, and it’s great to make a finished product, but I’m still scared. I’ll mess it up, I’ll make the wrong choice, I won’t be as good as I want. I’m good enough to see that I’m missing something good artists have, but I’m not good enough to know what that is.
I don’t really know what to do about any of this right now. I want to try affirmations, like, “This is what you want,” or “I trust you to do anything.” Deep breaths might help. I just wish I knew what was holding me back, so I could actually address it. All my current thoughts are ways to push myself along until I figure things out, and that’s how I got into this mess. In my previous piece for this week, I had a thing about how I can’t stand to start from a vulnerable place and “write what I know,” and that would have led into how every time, I do end up writing about myself anyway. I start out with a superficial image and reverse engineer everything around it. I figure out why I liked the superficial image in the first place, and then it’s ok to be personal. I noticed right away how there’s an arc in common between my graphic novel protagonist and me, vis a vis creativity. The thing that’s getting to me now is how I can view the conclusion of the story as a roadmap for myself in the future. I’m still figuring out what it means (obviously, since this isn’t the future yet), but you know, I think it’ll be productive. Something to look forward to as I keep working on the book.
One thing I can talk about with actual details is how I think. I often think as conversation, right? Like, I have a much easier time sorting through thoughts and feelings by acting them out as either an essay I’m drafting or a conversation I’m having with someone else. It’s been a useful skill, but it’s becoming more apparent to me how unhelpful “the other person” is. I do sometimes forget it’s just me up here, so definitely quotes on that. A common pattern is for them to be contrarian and negative. Basically, I end up arguing with myself against a nonsensically obtuse and awful straw person who represents how I worry others will react to me. Frequently having to justify basic, normal things and feelings, to a shadow I made to practice talking that ended up becoming a megaphone for my fear and doubt. Even as I type this and think, “Well, how can I change the pattern?” I hear a different voice saying it’ll be just about impossible, and I know that’s also me. I do think it’s about time I do some course correcting. Maybe I should have “the other person” say all the stuff I wish other people said to and about me and my work? “The other person” started off as an attempt to realistically imagine what another person would say, but I much prefer to imagine idealistic things.
On that note, I think this is all circling back to loneliness. I could use an actual other person in my life. I feel at once too close to my own problems to see them clearly and very removed from my own emotions. Like, I’m actively annoyed that I have ambition, because that means I can’t back down. When you know that the reason playing video games all day is hollow and unfulfilling is because you want to do something with your life, you can’t keep playing video games. But I like video games, and I miss the times when I could spend all day exhaustively planning an unconventional team in Pokémon Emerald. The well in my heart that the ambition comes from seems to be behind a veil, as are so many things. At the same time, I’m standing so close to that veil that when I peek over it, I’m looking past most of what’s behind it. When I talk to other people, I can feel myself speaking from a different side of that veil than when I’m thinking; “the other person” can’t replicate that experience. Maybe if I had someone I could talk to about art, I could actually see my art for what it is. I remember gaining more confidence in how I draw expressions and hands after taking a comics class with Becca Hillburn (look her up on all the socials, @nattosoup; she has art supply reviews and tutorials on her YouTube channel, and her 7 Inch Kara comics are available for sale on her website). I often look back on those classes as a real turning point for me. I’d love to find some community, preferably in the real world, like that again. It’s a lot less scary to have other people see your art when “other people” aren’t your insecurities.
Weekly Art Blog 2/2-2/9/2025
Life in the Gutters 