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Official Statement
9 years ago
I hope you all understand.
A few months ago, when I came back home, I was tired. Missed a flight and stayed awake for nearly 32 hours, all I wanted to do was go home. I wanted to go home and draw, I wanted to continue my passion as an artist. Maybe make a few friends here and there, but continue what I used to love doing, and realize my dream. All my fun characters, my memories, and my endeavors with comics and cartoons have been dear to me. Even now, I don't wish to stop doing what I used to do. I picked up this passion 6 years ago, becoming inspired through the T.V. show, Invader Zim. And discovering the furry fandom, back in those days, there was nothing to stop me from continuing working on art. Me and one of my siblings used to be close, and when we lived together we were competing artists. I always looked up to this person, and our competition is what drove my ambition. When this person left to live overseas, it spurred me on to draw more, this person was my role model and after all these years it was almost like losing a close friend. Because of this, I decided to take up drawing, having fantasies of becoming a comic artist and possibly working with D.C. or Marvel comics, the dream seemed all too real. I tried to draw anthro as a stepping stone for me, to learn anatomy and later draw humans when I got experienced enough.
And when 2013 came around, something terrible happened. I lost a family member to cancer, and during his last and final days I was asked to draw something for him. But, I couldn't, I didn't have the talent, and I didn't have the courage to do something that was beyond my skill to do it. Since then, I've felt a bit of regret for not taking up the request, from stepping down too afraid of my own judgement. I continued the next three years trying to forget what I failed to accomplish, focusing on comics, comedy, and studying anatomy. I wasn't doing art to improve, however, I used it to run away. I loved doing art because I could escape. When I began talking to other people, and telling them about myself as an artist, I began to get more requests for art. People expected me to draw, and draw really well, but I couldn't. My problems with self-esteem began to inflate, and I became increasingly frustrated at my own work. As the years went by I noticed my deteriorating skill, whether it be due to my declining vision or my wrist problems, my frustrations with myself only increased. Hours of drawing had severely degraded my vision, and increased my wrist pain, there were many days where I just couldn't physically or mentally draw. It was emotionally draining. But I wanted to continue, my competitive attitude couldn't allow it, I let my pride drive me forward.
I didn't want to see that I was already losing my passion for art. Next thing you know, 2015 rolls over, my emotions clouding my judgement. I wanted to continue drawing, on the sole basis that I had been doing it for years. I couldn't see that I was frustrated with art, I couldn't see that my motivation was depleted. I let my frustrations take over. Near the end of 2015 I started making bad choices, I ended up in a fight which tore the muscles in my left shoulder, and was injured for 2 months before I could recover. I stopped talking to my friends, I stopped trusting everyone. Then, I moved out of state, began eating healthier, exercising daily. I stopped drawing for 7 months to focus on something else, I wanted to be something else someone else. It was great, it was like I was reborn again, and I made new friends and met new people. And then I remembered a passion I dropped a long time ago. So, I started drawing again, ideas, motivation, I felt the rush I did when I started in 2011. But, old wounds started popping up again, I became doubtful, reclusive, and paranoid again. I stopped eating, I stopped exercising, I dropped everything to continue a forgotten passion.
I've been, depressed, to say the least, about dropping art. I don't think I've come to terms with it over the past few months. Drawing is a childhood passion that I developed, but that's all it ever was. I'm not an artist, it isn't me, it isn't who I am. It's not what I've wanted to be after all these years. All these jokes, comics, drawings, everything I've done in the past... I never really wanted to show the world that. So, for now, forever, I'm putting the pen down.
A few months ago, when I came back home, I was tired. Missed a flight and stayed awake for nearly 32 hours, all I wanted to do was go home. I wanted to go home and draw, I wanted to continue my passion as an artist. Maybe make a few friends here and there, but continue what I used to love doing, and realize my dream. All my fun characters, my memories, and my endeavors with comics and cartoons have been dear to me. Even now, I don't wish to stop doing what I used to do. I picked up this passion 6 years ago, becoming inspired through the T.V. show, Invader Zim. And discovering the furry fandom, back in those days, there was nothing to stop me from continuing working on art. Me and one of my siblings used to be close, and when we lived together we were competing artists. I always looked up to this person, and our competition is what drove my ambition. When this person left to live overseas, it spurred me on to draw more, this person was my role model and after all these years it was almost like losing a close friend. Because of this, I decided to take up drawing, having fantasies of becoming a comic artist and possibly working with D.C. or Marvel comics, the dream seemed all too real. I tried to draw anthro as a stepping stone for me, to learn anatomy and later draw humans when I got experienced enough.
And when 2013 came around, something terrible happened. I lost a family member to cancer, and during his last and final days I was asked to draw something for him. But, I couldn't, I didn't have the talent, and I didn't have the courage to do something that was beyond my skill to do it. Since then, I've felt a bit of regret for not taking up the request, from stepping down too afraid of my own judgement. I continued the next three years trying to forget what I failed to accomplish, focusing on comics, comedy, and studying anatomy. I wasn't doing art to improve, however, I used it to run away. I loved doing art because I could escape. When I began talking to other people, and telling them about myself as an artist, I began to get more requests for art. People expected me to draw, and draw really well, but I couldn't. My problems with self-esteem began to inflate, and I became increasingly frustrated at my own work. As the years went by I noticed my deteriorating skill, whether it be due to my declining vision or my wrist problems, my frustrations with myself only increased. Hours of drawing had severely degraded my vision, and increased my wrist pain, there were many days where I just couldn't physically or mentally draw. It was emotionally draining. But I wanted to continue, my competitive attitude couldn't allow it, I let my pride drive me forward.
I didn't want to see that I was already losing my passion for art. Next thing you know, 2015 rolls over, my emotions clouding my judgement. I wanted to continue drawing, on the sole basis that I had been doing it for years. I couldn't see that I was frustrated with art, I couldn't see that my motivation was depleted. I let my frustrations take over. Near the end of 2015 I started making bad choices, I ended up in a fight which tore the muscles in my left shoulder, and was injured for 2 months before I could recover. I stopped talking to my friends, I stopped trusting everyone. Then, I moved out of state, began eating healthier, exercising daily. I stopped drawing for 7 months to focus on something else, I wanted to be something else someone else. It was great, it was like I was reborn again, and I made new friends and met new people. And then I remembered a passion I dropped a long time ago. So, I started drawing again, ideas, motivation, I felt the rush I did when I started in 2011. But, old wounds started popping up again, I became doubtful, reclusive, and paranoid again. I stopped eating, I stopped exercising, I dropped everything to continue a forgotten passion.
I've been, depressed, to say the least, about dropping art. I don't think I've come to terms with it over the past few months. Drawing is a childhood passion that I developed, but that's all it ever was. I'm not an artist, it isn't me, it isn't who I am. It's not what I've wanted to be after all these years. All these jokes, comics, drawings, everything I've done in the past... I never really wanted to show the world that. So, for now, forever, I'm putting the pen down.
