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I had a wild insight about my trouble with art.
8 months ago
I was talking with my best friend of twenty years (we met in high school!) about wanting to start practicing art again, and also about the intense and strange anxiety that arises within me any time I begin to do so. As I've said many times throughout several journals, I miss doing art. Unfortunately, the production of art elicits frustrating panic attacks and intrusive ADHD that grinds any attempt to an immediate halt. Forcing myself to "push through" or "just do it" would only frighten my nervous system even more and ensure that I walk away from the entire enterprise forever. That's why I've effectively taken the year off; I'm doing damage control.
As my friend and I were talking, I listed a series of desires and goals for this year (IF I'm able to resolve this predicament): I want to practice more, something at which I never got really good. I was always working on "finished pieces" and not "practice doodles", which is what I see so many others always doing.
I want to do daily anatomical drills. I want to hoard doodles in sketchbooks. I want to challenge myself to draw novel poses from scratch, without reference, and without the aide of Blender. I want to sit down and study anatomy and gesture, which is something I've never really done in earnest. But in order to do this, I must discover and resolve the core malfunction that exists within my relationship with art.
After going in a few circles, I opened my mouth and absentmindedly said:
"It's as though I'm not able to focus on an art, whether 2D or 3D, until I can afford to make mistakes." It suddenly felt like a gigantic lightbulb switched on above my head, and Richard (my friend) simultaneously exclaimed "ooOOOHHHHHH."
"...until I can -afford- to make mistakes."
While living in Houston, especially through the 2018-2022 period, adoptables and commissions were my only source of income. EVERY piece I did had to translate into some kind of money, and it felt as though I could NOT "afford", figuratively and literally, to make a single mistake. "Doing so", I thought, "would slow me down, prevent me from making enough money, and retard my ability to keep a roof over my head and food in my bird's bowls." (I was also completely addicted to video games, alcohol, and marijuana, which is another story. Those certainly did not help).
My brain seemed to think that making a single mistake with a single picture was a literal financial failure, one which "I could not afford". I would then command myself to "BE PERFECT". Unfortunately and obviously...mistakes are inevitable. They are the only way through which one can get better at something, just like one cannot develop large muscles without constant workouts, which are, in a roundabout way, a kind of "physical mistake" ("whoops! I couldn't lift as much as I thought I could!).
With commissions, edits and requests come with the territory, although thanks to my mental health collapsing, the quality of my work was, in my opinion (as well as the opinion of several extremely honest customers), worsening instead of improving. Customers were often pissed, confused why their final product looked years older than the work I'd finished ten years before. This resulted in complete redos and refund demands, thus crystallizing the feeling of "I cannot afford to make mistakes".
I crushed myself with my own wildly unrealistic standards, preventing any opportunity for improvement. I whipped my own back into stinging, bleeding hamburger meat like some self-tortured monk in "The Name of the Rose".
At the same time, I was bombarded with mental illness symptoms and the predicament of being so isolated from my family, friends, and home. Moreover, I was hitting the crescendo of my psychosis and mania, punctuated with all those long, rambling "psychology" posts, journals, and "public diaries" (I'm so sorry about those. I've since deleted them). I was going insane and unable to see that art had become the primary vehicle of my torture.
And because I was barely making ends meet? I literally could not -afford- to stop. I lived in this dungeon for years, helplessly watching my love for art get shattered into bloody ribbons.
Needless to say, the penalty for all this was that art became, effectively, synonymous with shame, horror, fear and trauma. It was no longer fun, to say the least. It became a prison that whipped me when I failed, and my internal sense of failure had reached 100% with every piece I finished, even if the customer was completely happy with the final product.
-
Flip-cut to this year, where I could clearly hear the terrified voice inside my head saying "I can't do art! What if I make a mistake! I'm not allowed to make those! I'll be homeless!!!" Sigh.
-
...THIS is why art needs to just be a hobby for me again, and it should NEVER be my "job". I've suspected it, but have now confirmed it. I can ONLY start rebuilding art once I have PLENTY of money in my checking account, money that I've made in other ways; my nervous system needs to know that it CAN afford to make mistakes, since it is through these mistakes that I will learn, grow, and improve.
And...by convincing myself that "I could not afford to make mistakes", I prevented myself from the very opportunity to improve and grow. THAT is the malfunction, and it is now ***crystal-clear***.
I'm going to go back to square one. I need to relearn how to doodle and sketch and draw things that are *not* intended to be final products, and by no means intended to be "perfect." I also need to learn how to have fun with art again. Fortunately, I'm positive that this is on the table, now that I know what to do and what has happened: only do art for fun, only do adoptables or commissions (?) (maybe commissions, but only for long-time friends with whom I've built a strong sense of trust) when I feel like it and want to, and NEVER do art when I'm nervous about the amount of money in my checking account.
Instead of torturing myself when I make a single mistake, I need to embrace every mistake for what it is: the joyous and happy struggle of getting better and stronger.
As my friend and I were talking, I listed a series of desires and goals for this year (IF I'm able to resolve this predicament): I want to practice more, something at which I never got really good. I was always working on "finished pieces" and not "practice doodles", which is what I see so many others always doing.
I want to do daily anatomical drills. I want to hoard doodles in sketchbooks. I want to challenge myself to draw novel poses from scratch, without reference, and without the aide of Blender. I want to sit down and study anatomy and gesture, which is something I've never really done in earnest. But in order to do this, I must discover and resolve the core malfunction that exists within my relationship with art.
After going in a few circles, I opened my mouth and absentmindedly said:
"It's as though I'm not able to focus on an art, whether 2D or 3D, until I can afford to make mistakes." It suddenly felt like a gigantic lightbulb switched on above my head, and Richard (my friend) simultaneously exclaimed "ooOOOHHHHHH."
"...until I can -afford- to make mistakes."
While living in Houston, especially through the 2018-2022 period, adoptables and commissions were my only source of income. EVERY piece I did had to translate into some kind of money, and it felt as though I could NOT "afford", figuratively and literally, to make a single mistake. "Doing so", I thought, "would slow me down, prevent me from making enough money, and retard my ability to keep a roof over my head and food in my bird's bowls." (I was also completely addicted to video games, alcohol, and marijuana, which is another story. Those certainly did not help).
My brain seemed to think that making a single mistake with a single picture was a literal financial failure, one which "I could not afford". I would then command myself to "BE PERFECT". Unfortunately and obviously...mistakes are inevitable. They are the only way through which one can get better at something, just like one cannot develop large muscles without constant workouts, which are, in a roundabout way, a kind of "physical mistake" ("whoops! I couldn't lift as much as I thought I could!).
With commissions, edits and requests come with the territory, although thanks to my mental health collapsing, the quality of my work was, in my opinion (as well as the opinion of several extremely honest customers), worsening instead of improving. Customers were often pissed, confused why their final product looked years older than the work I'd finished ten years before. This resulted in complete redos and refund demands, thus crystallizing the feeling of "I cannot afford to make mistakes".
I crushed myself with my own wildly unrealistic standards, preventing any opportunity for improvement. I whipped my own back into stinging, bleeding hamburger meat like some self-tortured monk in "The Name of the Rose".
At the same time, I was bombarded with mental illness symptoms and the predicament of being so isolated from my family, friends, and home. Moreover, I was hitting the crescendo of my psychosis and mania, punctuated with all those long, rambling "psychology" posts, journals, and "public diaries" (I'm so sorry about those. I've since deleted them). I was going insane and unable to see that art had become the primary vehicle of my torture.
And because I was barely making ends meet? I literally could not -afford- to stop. I lived in this dungeon for years, helplessly watching my love for art get shattered into bloody ribbons.
Needless to say, the penalty for all this was that art became, effectively, synonymous with shame, horror, fear and trauma. It was no longer fun, to say the least. It became a prison that whipped me when I failed, and my internal sense of failure had reached 100% with every piece I finished, even if the customer was completely happy with the final product.
-
Flip-cut to this year, where I could clearly hear the terrified voice inside my head saying "I can't do art! What if I make a mistake! I'm not allowed to make those! I'll be homeless!!!" Sigh.
-
...THIS is why art needs to just be a hobby for me again, and it should NEVER be my "job". I've suspected it, but have now confirmed it. I can ONLY start rebuilding art once I have PLENTY of money in my checking account, money that I've made in other ways; my nervous system needs to know that it CAN afford to make mistakes, since it is through these mistakes that I will learn, grow, and improve.
And...by convincing myself that "I could not afford to make mistakes", I prevented myself from the very opportunity to improve and grow. THAT is the malfunction, and it is now ***crystal-clear***.
I'm going to go back to square one. I need to relearn how to doodle and sketch and draw things that are *not* intended to be final products, and by no means intended to be "perfect." I also need to learn how to have fun with art again. Fortunately, I'm positive that this is on the table, now that I know what to do and what has happened: only do art for fun, only do adoptables or commissions (?) (maybe commissions, but only for long-time friends with whom I've built a strong sense of trust) when I feel like it and want to, and NEVER do art when I'm nervous about the amount of money in my checking account.
Instead of torturing myself when I make a single mistake, I need to embrace every mistake for what it is: the joyous and happy struggle of getting better and stronger.
There's nothing wrong with wanting to make money with a hobby. However, don't let that idea consume you. As weird as this may sound, people can tell when a picture was shoveled out, vs one that the artist had fun making. Given things going on... we need MUCH more fun.
There are no mistakes, only happy accidents, and embracing that can lead to amazing pieces :)
You are also exactly right about people being able to tell if something was just "shoveled out". I'm so embarrassed to see the same pattern in my own work, but at least grateful that I can see it and address it.
Bob Ross was wise. Perhaps I should play his show more often in the background.
On top of that, all the "It's only $1 per month to get access" journals. I was curious to how much it would cost per month to support all the people on my watch list. Results: As of right now... for just the paywall side: $1850... per month. Couple that with the oversaturation of Adopts, YCH's, and commission requests that are $200+... and the inflation you mentioned... yeah....
The fact you can see it is a positive step, and means you can address it. It's going to take time, and that's okay, especially if it means you can find that fun spark again.
Fun challenge: Try adapting some of his techniques to work with whatever program you use :) .
Your advice is excellent and worth following. I'll do just that.
Embrace those mistakes, its how we learn and can be positive mistakes that can turn into something beautiful. When I do minis paint mistakes often become something great to work out of.
You got the heart and you can do it.
I always appreciate your comments so much. Thank you for them. <3
Of course, that still comes with the pressure of doing art on a regular schedule, so even that may not work well for you - I get that. But the thing I have learned (after years of doing art as a hobby and now doing it as my main source of income) is: "If you build it, they will come." You don't have to never make mistakes. I have art from ten years ago that I now cringe to look at, but the people who commissioned it still cherish it and use it as their profile picture and pass it along as their ref.
You nailed it: you have to make mistakes in order to grow. Some people will be upset with the final product you delivered, sure. But whether those people are justified in being upset or not, they're not the people you're trying to reach. But in the meantime, you've got the right idea: you need it to be fun again. Whether you ever go into business with it again or not, you're a good artist, and it would be a shame to lose your talent.
It's better to create things imperfectly than it is to not create them. It's better for it to exist, flawed, than for it to not exist. I forget exactly where I read it, but I once saw a post that said "If it's worth doing at all, it's worth half-assing" and it legit changed my life. It's not an excuse for mediocrity, but rather a motivator to change how you think, and start thinking in terms of "it is better to do something imperfectly than to do nothing."
You're also right that the "regular schedule" would have been the deal breaker for me, specifically. My ADHD was bad enough that I now find at least four or five unfinished comics in my gallery, and it's clear that my focus is haphazard at best. -IF- I wasn't so ADHD, then I could probably make it work.
I probably offloaded the responsibility of "success" onto third parties to a more severe degree than I should have. "If it's worth doing at all, it's worth half-assing" will be in my mind for a while; I can see how that would change one's life.
These are outstanding insights.
Staying focused can definitely be a challenge, for sure. I think (and I don't have a perfect solution; I just know what's worked for me) one thing that can alleviate that is to have several different projects going on at once. If you can't seem to stay focused on one, try hopping over to another and see if it holds your attention better - you can get back to the other one later.
I know one artist here on FA who's had a comic going for years that he posts on a regular schedule, but he basically finishes huge sections of the comic before posting ANY of it. In other words, he may have a hundred pages already done, but he only posts one page every Monday. But now he's been doing it faithfully since 2015, with one roughly year-long break.
Really, it's all about strategizing in ways that play to your strengths while accounting for your weaknesses. And I'm not saying that to pressure you back into doing it as a business; not everyone's cut out for that. Making art and running a business require two entirely different skill sets. It doesn't HAVE to take the fun away from it for you, but it might also just be something you don't feel the need to pursue, and that's okay. Personally, just having watched you all these years (I read every journal you post - yes, even those journals, haha), I think you COULD do it - you'd just have to go into it with a very different mindset than what you had before.
But at the end of the day, what really matters is that you get joy from creating. For myself, I do it as a living, but that's because I want to. I get joy out of creating things for other people; leaving my day job let me have the time I needed to devote to it (and frankly, furry art pays me better than teaching did - isn't that sad?).
It's important to have fun with your work and to create elements within it that make you smile. Otherwise, it feels like slavery.
It sounds like you're going to take a new approach to things that should bring you quite a bit more joy. I will be among the first to cheer when I see you smiling at your sketchbook.
I believe in you. Rediscover the joy!
P.S. I agree with the prior comments that, right now, people are simply not spending money on art. Couple that with the ever-broadening array of furry artists and what you have are very limited dollars spread very thin in this fandom. I'm old enough to remember when conventions announced, "Hey, we have an ACTUAL ARTIST attending the convention!" Having even a single artist at a con was big news. Now you can't throw a stick without hitting one!
LOL, and I remember that, too. I was there with you!
In the end, your happiness with your art is all that matters. Even if you never do commissions or adopts again, know that people will always enjoy your works and support you in some form or another.
Be sure to continue to take care of yourself and I look forward to seeing what bright future awaits you!
However, many people nowadays tend to use it more as a weapon rather than a resource for harmony.
With this in mind, I can say you are not obliged to do art.
You have all the right to say "yes" to something and the entire right say "no".
Old vices no longer control you.
Old bad friends have never been telepathic and can't enter to your mind.
Old voices in your head are just mosquitoes that can be smashed and sprayed with the things you have now.
Mistakes and errors are already in the past.
You are different today.
Darkness doesn't last forever.
But light will always shine happily. Just follow it.
Go for your goals!
I appreciate you. <3
I appreciate you, too, dude. :>
proud of you Corvy, good luck doodling for your own joy!
everything that follows is a result of your hard work.
As for art, absolutely, embrace the mistakes.
If I can give some unsolicited advice? What's helped me a lot is to pick up another hobby I can let myself be "bad at". For me that's embroidery. Still something creative enough to scratch that itch, but it's never had the association of needing to make money off it. I download patterns other people have made, and keep in (most of, at least) the mistakes. Maybe in the future I'll get better at it, but having something separate that's like "absolutely nobody else can take this from me, I get to define success as having fun instead of progress/profit" is healing.
Or cooking/baking! I made some lemon bars for my roommate the other day. I messed up by using parchment paper incorrectly and the lemon filling ended up leaking underneath the shortbread. It was messy and I was anxious about it, but we loved how they turned out otherwise and that's what mattered more in the end.
I'm still working on applying to my art too, but no longer having the pressure of it being The Only Source Of Income and The Only Creative Outlet is making it more enjoyable for sure. Happy little accidents instead of life-ruining mistakes and all that.
Best of luck to you! :D I hope everything can open some new roads for you and start a new chapter of your life.
My mom, who's been no longer with us for quite a few years now, grew up poor, and never wanted that for her children. And when I was growing up, she took the attitude that talent is a beautiful gift from God. Perhaps. But she also believed that meant anyone who received a talent had a moral responsibility to develop and share that talent with the world. She also believed that if I had talent, it should be assessed and cultivated for its potential to earn income to support the family.
My big talent in youth was piano. But it went from something I enjoyed doing for my own reasons...to something I had to do for others to show gratitude for the gift of its existence. She had me playing for bigger and bigger gatherings...sometimes even feigning that I had a choice...until it was no longer even my own choice to do so. Worse was that I received so much gushing praise. I was *so* talented. I was *so* gifted. I was *so* amazing. It felt most awkward when it came from people I barely knew, or didn't know at all. By the time I was 15, I hated playing piano for anyone, the idea filled me with anxiety, and I rebelled, and would no longer perform. My mom relented, but then switched tack: I didn't have to perform at recitals or concerts, but maybe I could learn to play background music for affluent parties. And all that...was my idea of a nightmare.
In my late teens, 20s and 30s, I did a lot more MIDI arrangements as a hobby. When my mom heard them, she saw that as a potential for making money selling cell phone ringtones, which could help support the family. If I wanted to write or even casually muse about any kind of idea for fiction, she wanted me to become a successful novelist to earn money to help support the family. When I started my very first casual personal blog in the 2000s, she'd heard that blogging can lead to earning income, which I could use to help support the family. There was nothing I could be good at or show interest in that was not looked over for its potential monetary value to support the family.
I still loved my mom. But I completely stopped playing piano. My mom passed away before even reaching old age, and at her funeral, I managed to do a perfect performance of a sonata movement after years of no practice. But I don't play, I don't practice, I don't perform. I don't even have a piano or an electronic keyboard anymore. I couldn't imagine playing a piano keyboard anymore unless I'm in a room alone, where no one can see me, with all audio output going to my own headphones.
That doesn't mean, however, that I don't still do music. If you look at my gallery, it's chock full of chiptunes, and some of them are even elaborate chiptunes of piano pieces. I continued doing the music I'm good at on my own terms. Not for fame. Not for popularity. Not for praise. Not for profit. Not to show token gratitude for the existence of my talent. But simply because I think something is nice, and I hope one or two of my friends think it's nice, too. Even then, there's nothing transactional about it - my friends aren't my friends because of what I can do. I'm just...doing the thing I do, in my own way.
I just read your journal, and I wanted to say that I really admire the clarity and self-awareness you’ve gained through all of this. It takes a lot of courage to untangle something so deeply ingrained and painful, and I’m really glad you’ve reached a point where you can see a path forward.
I completely understand the pressure of needing to be perfect, especially when survival is tied to success. It makes so much sense why art became a source of stress instead of joy. But I love that you’re reclaiming it on your own terms. The idea of allowing yourself to make mistakes, to rediscover the fun, and to only do it when it feels right—that’s powerful.
I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever want to talk, vent, or even just share some doodles when you start exploring again. No pressure at all—just know you’ve got someone in your corner who believes in you.
Be kind to yourself. You deserve it.
*BIG WUFF HUGS*