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Hero Worship gone south.
18 years ago
The Rantings of an Art Crazed Chow, Second verse, same as the first.
There was a time when there was those in the Anthro Genre of art that I held in high regard, nay worshipped as heros. Some who I found myself running to the local bookstore to find their titles, at the confusion of the owners who normaly did not carry such titles, but found themselves liking it once they got a glance at the art and the stories. There were those in the genre who I held in high regard for their views and thoughts which at the time I thought mirrored my own, folks I would listen to but kept a distance not speaking for fear of being out of place in the status quo.
Funny how time evolves one, to go from hero worship, or for some being fanboyish, to just admiring them with respect. Also strange how one moment they rock and another moment, one thing said could send them crashing in your eyes, fallen from grace. Odd how even if that happens, a "Say it ain't so joe!" moment, their fall from your eyes means nothing when there is always somebody else to step up and fawn, taking your place in line that you give up. Only a few artists I have admired have fallen from my eyes, one or two from no fault of their own, another who showed signs of a willingness to treat their fans like crap. A moment at an Anthrocon so many years ago, maybe in the Zoo and maybe on a table with a hastely scribbled sign that said "Free to a good home." sat the labors of many trips to the bookstore. Titles that perhaps now are so rare that it would bring a hefty sum, or maybe bring a twinkle to the eye of a new fan of the genre. No regrets I say, it is just part of the cycle.
Hours, days, weeks, and even a whole month, working in a medium newly discovered, vowing to oneself that what was being created was a labor of love and admiration. Two pieces never to be sold, regardless of what was offered because it would not do the orginal artists justice, only to be used by self on the back of two jackets, to show the love for the artists. One piece given to the orginal artist to show admiration for the work they did and in the hopes to inspire that artist to explore the medium the gift was presented in, just doing my part. One jacket piece was destroyed, burned in a momentary fit of anger that was followed by regret. The other jacket piece is locked away, hidden from view to never see the light of day again. True, these items can be made again, but gone is the desire, faded with time.
Recently another favorite of mine spoke out on a sore subject. Still a favorite but now just another person of interest, nothing special. I refuse to name names and point fingers because somewhere in my mind, they are still greats, they just faltered and stumbled a bit. Why ruin it for a new fan, let them have their hero worship, I just hope when their heros fall before them they have the courage to offer a hand to help them get back up, if not physically, then through thoughts.
My lessons were harder to learn, some were mis-learned and misunderstood. It did not make me a better person or a better artist, just look at my gallery. It allowed me to reflect and perhaps shaped my current mindset, maybe for the better or for the worst. Either way I can only say don't be taken aback if I refuse to get close to anyone, it just takes a little time to find your own footing after your heros fall. Sorry.
Funny how time evolves one, to go from hero worship, or for some being fanboyish, to just admiring them with respect. Also strange how one moment they rock and another moment, one thing said could send them crashing in your eyes, fallen from grace. Odd how even if that happens, a "Say it ain't so joe!" moment, their fall from your eyes means nothing when there is always somebody else to step up and fawn, taking your place in line that you give up. Only a few artists I have admired have fallen from my eyes, one or two from no fault of their own, another who showed signs of a willingness to treat their fans like crap. A moment at an Anthrocon so many years ago, maybe in the Zoo and maybe on a table with a hastely scribbled sign that said "Free to a good home." sat the labors of many trips to the bookstore. Titles that perhaps now are so rare that it would bring a hefty sum, or maybe bring a twinkle to the eye of a new fan of the genre. No regrets I say, it is just part of the cycle.
Hours, days, weeks, and even a whole month, working in a medium newly discovered, vowing to oneself that what was being created was a labor of love and admiration. Two pieces never to be sold, regardless of what was offered because it would not do the orginal artists justice, only to be used by self on the back of two jackets, to show the love for the artists. One piece given to the orginal artist to show admiration for the work they did and in the hopes to inspire that artist to explore the medium the gift was presented in, just doing my part. One jacket piece was destroyed, burned in a momentary fit of anger that was followed by regret. The other jacket piece is locked away, hidden from view to never see the light of day again. True, these items can be made again, but gone is the desire, faded with time.
Recently another favorite of mine spoke out on a sore subject. Still a favorite but now just another person of interest, nothing special. I refuse to name names and point fingers because somewhere in my mind, they are still greats, they just faltered and stumbled a bit. Why ruin it for a new fan, let them have their hero worship, I just hope when their heros fall before them they have the courage to offer a hand to help them get back up, if not physically, then through thoughts.
My lessons were harder to learn, some were mis-learned and misunderstood. It did not make me a better person or a better artist, just look at my gallery. It allowed me to reflect and perhaps shaped my current mindset, maybe for the better or for the worst. Either way I can only say don't be taken aback if I refuse to get close to anyone, it just takes a little time to find your own footing after your heros fall. Sorry.
Having said that, I too, have felt sad de-watching many heroes whose journaled views are personally repugnant. I am poorer, without their challenge in my life, but calmer.
You have my sympathy.