I occasionally convince myself that I cannot draw, write, or do anything that I would usually find fun, or edifying. Everything sounds like a bad idea, and my mood takes a turn towards melancholy, resulting in me staring at a blank sheet of paper for hours, filled with self-loathing.
Talking with people about it usually has the opposite effect of what I’m looking for, and inevitably leads to even greater frustration. I know that my anger at them is not justified, but that never occurs in the heat of the moment.
This will usually last for about a week, and will finally end with my shakily drawing something weird and kinda dark. i drew the following one just this morning to mark the end of my latest art-block:
I watched Jurassic World.
I liked it.
The last five novels I’ve read are as follows:
-Akira by Katsuhiro Otomo (volumes 1 and 2)
Classics as far as manga go; These graphic novels have incredible art, unique characters, and an intriguing story. Not to mention, the main character’s motorcycle is freaking amaza.
-Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick
The inspiration for Blade Runner.
-Shadow of the Hegemon by Orson Scott Card
The sequel to Ender’s Shadow, Card writes characters you can get to know.
-Maus: My Father Bleeds History by Art Spiegelman
A comic artist’s retelling of stories from his father, a concentration camp survivor. It’s painful to read, but worth it.
So, there they are. I’d be interested to hear what others have been reading of late, and what they suggest.
When I was in middle school, one of my best friends was an art tutor named John. John was an eighty some years old Hawaiian shirts enthusiast, and I would meet with him in a small art shop called The Thistle Patch for about two hours every Saturday morning. We would sit and draw things from movies, nature books, and new concepts we made up on the spot. Pineapple juice from a can, and coffee were our choice fuels for creativity, and conversation.
Our conversations varied greatly. We talked about beetles, Star Wars, movie effects, boats, past experiences, and faith. He told me stories of when he was a naval gun man; of shooting for dear life as Kamikazes hurled towards his ship. We both agreed that peace was preferable.
Not too many techniques were discussed, during the sessions, but as we talked about life, and everything that comes with it, I learned why I wanted to make art. It’s important to know why you do something when you intend to do a lot of it. John taught me how to create, more than he taught me how to draw, and I am grateful for that.
When I went to high school, I stopped going to the The Thistle Patch each Saturday. Life seemed too busy. John passed away about two years later.
I still regret having never told my friend what he had done for me.