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An Artist's Laments...
8 years ago
For the longest time now, I haven’t been sketching no where near as much as I use to. I remember years ago, I’d go through 10-12 sketchbooks easily in a matter of 6 months. Now I don’t even complete a single sketchbook in over a year… I’ve been asked continuously why I barely do any artwork anymore, and I honestly really didn’t know how to answer those questions…
But I think I know how it all started.
In September 2011 (the time I had just discovered my dad’s cancer diagnosis), I was approached by the HR department of my workplace and they wanted to commission me to do some fancy paint work in the hallway by their office. I was beyond flattered and excited so I naturally accepted. I was asked to select some inspirational quotes to paint and add illustrations around them. I happily spent hours on these pieces… That is, until I found out I was only getting paid my shitty pathetic hostess pay to do this, which was only $8.75 at the time. I was understandably upset and when I brought it up to HR, they just said, “Well of course, that’s what we’re paying you. What else were you expecting? Us to pay you underneath the table?” Of course that’s not what I wanted, I just wanted to be paid fairly was all. I had several friends tell me not to finish if that’s how little they were willing to pay me. BUT, back then, I never liked the idea of leaving anything like this incomplete. So I continued and finished it up. Why bother, you ask? It was because painting all that work helped distract me from the soul crushing reality I was going to lose one of the closest people to me soon. Not right away thankfully, but it was true, all the same. Time passed, and different co-workers and management praised my artwork. Many had even told me it was always nice reading the quotes on their way to clock in/out of their shifts. I felt I had not only helped myself cope with a stressful period & achieved a beautiful set of work, but I had helped others get through their own work days too. Sadly, my Dad’s deteriorating health was too much and he didn’t get to see my work in-person. But we had taken pictures and shown them to him. He was so proud of me and he loved each one very much. Time passed, as eventually (and tragically) so did Dad. It has taken me literal years to heal from this and there are times that I still break down and cry, I miss him so dearly. Seeing my own work on my way into work-shifts always helped give me a small smile, because it reminded me of him and the positive memories.
Fast forward to last year, around summer time, my GM wanted to talk to me about a new project. I was cautious at first, seeing as I remembered how bad I got screwed over last time. He drops a bombshell on me: He wants to redo the entire hallway I had spent WEEKS working on to instead make a Hall of Fame memorial to those who won Associate of the Month/Years in the past. And I can guarantee you about 97% of said associates no longer work there, if not, had quit/been fired for shitty reasons, and wouldn’t give two flying fucks if they knew this plan. I felt so… wounded beyond imagination. Hurt. Devastated. As an artist, I cherish everything I produce because it comes directly from my heart & soul, no matter how big or small the piece is. And I suppose it was naïve of me to think people I work for, who ASKED ME to do this, would value something an associate took weeks to make… I had a goddamn nervous breakdown at work, bawling my eyes and hyperventilating because he showed me just how little my art meant to him, THE GODDAMN GENERAL MANAGER. It was the biggest project I had ever taken on, and the most difficult, and to be told it’s going to be replaced with something so fucking trivial and ridiculous was like a thousand slaps to my face and actually watching him throw the paint over all of it himself. When he found out how distraught this made me, he met with me again to assure me that, “as long as he remained GM, he would make sure my work stays there.” His words… This comforted me greatly and felt reassured that he understood my feelings.
… Or so I thought. This is around the time when my art output started to decrease drastically, which I thought was only because I found my new fun hobby of writing erotic fanfiction.
Fast forward again to last month, and I’m approached by said GM once more. What does he want? To inform me he had someone take pictures of my work, blow them up, and had them printed into individual large posters. He even said he’d give me the digital copies too. But what does he want in exchange? You guessed it… to go ahead and paint over all my stuff for his stupid Associate Hall of Fame plan. I have given up now. I gave the green light, got my nice posters & frames, and as far as when he’ll inform staff to start the new plan, I don’t care anymore.
What’s the point of this story, you ask? Well… I have always loved my artwork and doing it. And I have always loved showcasing my work in person and online. But I’m not that great and am admittedly extremely self conscious about it, more than anything else in my life. When I post my stuff, I’m lucky to get a single note/fav/heart/etc., much less a comment/feedback. I know I should create art for myself but… every artist wants some praise deep down; To feel their work is meaningful & appreciated somehow. When does my work get attention though? If it’s fucking furry porn commissions I’ve sold. That’s it, nothing else. Not the complex pieces with deep emotional attachment. Not the pieces based on my original characters and stories I’ve spent years weaving in my head. None of it gets the views or praise like the porn pieces do, and even then, it’s barely anything. I am fortunate to have a small handful of people love my all work with great enthusiasm, like my wonderful sister, my ever supportive husband, my closest friends. They have helped keep my small flame of love & hope from going out for this long.
They say if you want to be recognized, put your stuff out there… But what happens when you do, bearing your heart & soul, but hardly anyone seems to care?
But I think I know how it all started.
In September 2011 (the time I had just discovered my dad’s cancer diagnosis), I was approached by the HR department of my workplace and they wanted to commission me to do some fancy paint work in the hallway by their office. I was beyond flattered and excited so I naturally accepted. I was asked to select some inspirational quotes to paint and add illustrations around them. I happily spent hours on these pieces… That is, until I found out I was only getting paid my shitty pathetic hostess pay to do this, which was only $8.75 at the time. I was understandably upset and when I brought it up to HR, they just said, “Well of course, that’s what we’re paying you. What else were you expecting? Us to pay you underneath the table?” Of course that’s not what I wanted, I just wanted to be paid fairly was all. I had several friends tell me not to finish if that’s how little they were willing to pay me. BUT, back then, I never liked the idea of leaving anything like this incomplete. So I continued and finished it up. Why bother, you ask? It was because painting all that work helped distract me from the soul crushing reality I was going to lose one of the closest people to me soon. Not right away thankfully, but it was true, all the same. Time passed, and different co-workers and management praised my artwork. Many had even told me it was always nice reading the quotes on their way to clock in/out of their shifts. I felt I had not only helped myself cope with a stressful period & achieved a beautiful set of work, but I had helped others get through their own work days too. Sadly, my Dad’s deteriorating health was too much and he didn’t get to see my work in-person. But we had taken pictures and shown them to him. He was so proud of me and he loved each one very much. Time passed, as eventually (and tragically) so did Dad. It has taken me literal years to heal from this and there are times that I still break down and cry, I miss him so dearly. Seeing my own work on my way into work-shifts always helped give me a small smile, because it reminded me of him and the positive memories.
Fast forward to last year, around summer time, my GM wanted to talk to me about a new project. I was cautious at first, seeing as I remembered how bad I got screwed over last time. He drops a bombshell on me: He wants to redo the entire hallway I had spent WEEKS working on to instead make a Hall of Fame memorial to those who won Associate of the Month/Years in the past. And I can guarantee you about 97% of said associates no longer work there, if not, had quit/been fired for shitty reasons, and wouldn’t give two flying fucks if they knew this plan. I felt so… wounded beyond imagination. Hurt. Devastated. As an artist, I cherish everything I produce because it comes directly from my heart & soul, no matter how big or small the piece is. And I suppose it was naïve of me to think people I work for, who ASKED ME to do this, would value something an associate took weeks to make… I had a goddamn nervous breakdown at work, bawling my eyes and hyperventilating because he showed me just how little my art meant to him, THE GODDAMN GENERAL MANAGER. It was the biggest project I had ever taken on, and the most difficult, and to be told it’s going to be replaced with something so fucking trivial and ridiculous was like a thousand slaps to my face and actually watching him throw the paint over all of it himself. When he found out how distraught this made me, he met with me again to assure me that, “as long as he remained GM, he would make sure my work stays there.” His words… This comforted me greatly and felt reassured that he understood my feelings.
… Or so I thought. This is around the time when my art output started to decrease drastically, which I thought was only because I found my new fun hobby of writing erotic fanfiction.
Fast forward again to last month, and I’m approached by said GM once more. What does he want? To inform me he had someone take pictures of my work, blow them up, and had them printed into individual large posters. He even said he’d give me the digital copies too. But what does he want in exchange? You guessed it… to go ahead and paint over all my stuff for his stupid Associate Hall of Fame plan. I have given up now. I gave the green light, got my nice posters & frames, and as far as when he’ll inform staff to start the new plan, I don’t care anymore.
What’s the point of this story, you ask? Well… I have always loved my artwork and doing it. And I have always loved showcasing my work in person and online. But I’m not that great and am admittedly extremely self conscious about it, more than anything else in my life. When I post my stuff, I’m lucky to get a single note/fav/heart/etc., much less a comment/feedback. I know I should create art for myself but… every artist wants some praise deep down; To feel their work is meaningful & appreciated somehow. When does my work get attention though? If it’s fucking furry porn commissions I’ve sold. That’s it, nothing else. Not the complex pieces with deep emotional attachment. Not the pieces based on my original characters and stories I’ve spent years weaving in my head. None of it gets the views or praise like the porn pieces do, and even then, it’s barely anything. I am fortunate to have a small handful of people love my all work with great enthusiasm, like my wonderful sister, my ever supportive husband, my closest friends. They have helped keep my small flame of love & hope from going out for this long.
They say if you want to be recognized, put your stuff out there… But what happens when you do, bearing your heart & soul, but hardly anyone seems to care?
