I really, really, really have an irresistible urge to create stuff…to express myself…especially on paper.
I want to be able to express my thoughts and feelings…I want to turn my thoughts into something that I can show to you and say, "Here ya go.…This is what I am thinking about…This is how I feel… Do you get me?...Did I move you?"
But I have problems…
The first is that it is utterly, devastatingly and entirely impossible for me. That’s a ginormous problem, but one that's not too terrible in the end, because it's pretty much impossible for everyone.
My second problem is that I have a total lack of skill (maybe not total...but close).
I’m not trained…AT ALL.
Some people have called me an artist…I AM NOT.
If you pair the fact that I have limited skills with the fact that I have the attention span of a gnat it means that I barely manage to create something remotely like the image, thought, joke, or whatever it is that is in my head that I wanted to represent on paper.
Sometimes I feel that I might be able to create something wonderful “this time”.
The blank page represents possibility…it represents a future wherein I have given the world something to understand the nonsense that is buzzing around in my head...
I often carry around a book of blank paper, and then never write or draw in it.
Or maybe, if I feel really creative , I might draw a line on one piece of paper… It will probably be a wavy line. Then I stare at it in dismay and irritation and don't draw anything else. If you've ever seen me on one of those occasions, you might have wondered about it…you probably didn't, but what you saw was me trying to translate what I was thinking to paper, and failing miserably.
…my pencil or pen or sharpie doing nothing…
And that possibility is gone…vanished…no more. The effort has collapsed, and there's a wavy line on the paper that isn't art…isn't meaningful…isn’t funny…isn't a representation of my thoughts or feelings or ideas. It doesn't represent any kind of truth…it doesn't teach anyone…it doesn't evoke any kind of emotion…or laughter. You will not be motivated by it. You will not be changed by it…and I will not be changed by creating it.
It is a line…A wavy line…A wavy line in a tattered drawing book.
I won't even remember what I was feeling or thinking when I scribbled it.
This annoys the daylights out of me.
Paper and ink represent the potential to actually create something worthwhile…that I might be able to get that little bit of whatever it is that is inside of me out of me and onto paper…but…nothing….
I don't know why I have this NEED, but it confuses and irritates me sometimes.
I’m not sure why I’m telling you any of this…I feel like I haven't accomplished what I wanted to say…I haven’t told you what I wanted to tell you.
I feel like this post is a wavy line.