I feel it in the eyes of people looking at my social media stories, judging and probing. Wondering, why isn't Vela drawing like she used to, or even as much as she used to?
The possibility that maybe it's something I can regain, I have given up most hope on. Still, I manage to do little bits and pieces of digital art, both my greatest arch nemesis and (used to be) passionate love. I am pleased with the below results and the screenshots I have above and below.
I'm saying again that part two of Rubble and Rust is up for people to peruse. I'm certain my pencilly rough looking style of art wont appeal to anyone, so I am not going to waste any more breath feeling anxious about how it will be perceived.
People respond more often to cleaner art because it gives off a sense of realism, I feel like. It immerses you in the world a bit more than rougher linework, which I had done traditionally for Rubble and Rust. Rougher conveys it's own meaning and supplemented my world though.
It is an immense struggle to do digital art, but more the hurdle of sitting down and facing the Wacom. That is precisely it, a fear of making a fool of myself. For people to notice my art is not so good as it was over 2 years ago, yes it's been so long and I'm still dealing with this? Because I have had relapses, yes. That must be a factor. I'm scared because things happened to me again and again, that has frightened me that I could have damaged my skills further. So far, my linework is sketchy and unappealing, I can barely do a nice outline to save my life, but still, I find thrilling joy in creating the little things I can.
I've been told that depression is impacting on my 'art brain'. That it slows you down and could very well be what has hindered me. Depression has weighed on me heavily ever since my accident, like a dense blanket of melancholy. Yet I thought I was finding joy again? With my Photographic visual novels, my blogging and dabbling in programming with a dash of attempting visual art again.
It might be a very long time before the miasma of feeling worthless and broken lifts fully from me. Once again I say, I feel it in the eyes of people looking at my work. I only feel comfortable with new followers, people that see me for who I am now.
I had someone say they liked my work and felt I am doing important work. I supposed that meant my newest work from under a year-ish. I felt happy, really happy. Knowing my newer work meant something to them!
Since 'losing my art', above all else I have felt like I am unable to communicate. Lost in an abyss of pathetic scribblings that have no where near the expressive power that my old work had. I have wanted to k*ll myself multiple times, and nearly did for a different reason but I have mostly remained strong. Why? Because I can still do this, I can still write and use my noggin' in a different way. I can still use my voice online in the form of vlogs, I can still do whatever little things I can.
People used to praise me for my work. They maybe used to feel more because I was more skilled. However I accept, I wasn't fully feeling life. I was living through artistic imitations and needing to condense down life's experiences into sketches. I simply am not the same person anymore. I was selfish and pettier than I am now. Such experiences have made me appreciate little things like going for a Sunday drive and lunch out way more. Not needing to reduce experiences to proof in a sketchbook.
They will think my plight is because I 'don't work hard enough' or some insulting garbage, which I've had someone say, completely missing the fact I've experienced brain trauma. Yes, I've been told it's brain trauma, and that it will fade and everything will be peachy-keen again someday.
Maybe I should have hope?
I am disgusted with how people talk about art. Good, bad, fantastic, skill level, improvements, careers.....as if there are never any massive setbacks that wreck people's lives and make them start all-the-fuck-over again. >:(
Life continues to assault me in towering waves, that is a loose quote from Forces that guides me daily. I have survived so much because of, surprise surprise, Berserk. In Berserk I found a strength to soldier on despite the dark miserable nights. It's why I go on about it so much and gawk at the images on a daily basis.
But as Obnoxy has told me, I 'read the manual in my heart' which is Berserk themed but not limited to berk. It's a feeling of knowing life is rough, really rough, and that we change and grow stronger in the face of adversity. We don't know how the journey ends and considering they are continuing Berserk, nobody else wants it to end either.
I'm scared, because I don't think many others in first world countries know this pit of worthlessness. A lot of 'mental health' sufferers seem to come out of it scot-free, that is exactly why I believe mine is supernatural. My art abilities were drained like a pot-bellied truck driver draining a pint of Coopers IPA!
My current visual novel is a lived experience mystery/adventure story. In Obnoxy, I explore connection to place ( both suburbia and the outdoors) and a yearning for fairytales to be true. My main character Olive currently she meets some characters with their own experiences with the unknown that help her begin to uncover the mystery of 'Obnoxy'. Olive has gone through a bit of the chaos that I have, but I mix up the chronological order, to save the best for last. ;)
At the end of the day what I'm trying to say is, people may not feel much looking at my work anymore. It may seem measly and pathetic to them, but to me, it's the best work I can do right now.
Still, the more I blog and talk about my visual novel, the better I understand what I'm trying to make. It's all too tempting to slap some images and jump into the code editor, but I think I shouldn't for today. n_n;
Obnoxy is basically all lived experience. Down to the escalating tension and climax. I crave communicating what has happened to me this last year and beyond.
People will read this blogpost in the distant future and skim over it, they wont realise I am simply writing about my feelings at a fixed moment in time. Everything said always comes back to haunt me eventually, no matter what I try and convey. Yet I keep writing, for it makes me happy.
Over and out.