I know this is kind of odd, but I JUST saw an artist beating themselves up in a journal about how much they hated their art, before I found one of my older sketchbooks in my closet not even an hour later.
I hate seeing artists who don't understand that art isn't perfect. It is amazing and fun and yourself. I hated myself, and I hated my art when I was young. It took some pretty serious growing up before I started to like me. and I do like my art now. I love doing it. It makes me happy. I wish I could just grab the people who are so busy being miserable over not being perfect that they're missing out on all the fun, and shake them. Stop being so angry.
I'll scrap this later, I just wanted to share, I suppose.
If you're having trouble reading the text:
"Five AM, and I'm sitting on the floor of my closet, smiling and thumbing through an ancient and forgotten sketchbook. It is from 2004. The art inside is terrible, truly awful, and it makes me smile and feel so nostalgic over how much I've grown. A lot of the pages are just floating heads before my younger self grew bored and moved onto a fresh page, determined to make this one beautiful and admirable and amazing.
And then there's one page, almost to the end. It has a mess of angry black scribbles, the page still deeply scoured and I can even see where the pencil must have broken. Twice. A small bit of cursive is below it; A note to myself.
“I cant draw.
and never will
be able to.”
Several pages after this are blank, except for the angry scars that show from my scribble.
I was so angry when I was young, and I hated myself so much. I hated my art. I wanted to be great and perfect, and I wasn't, and it was because I was a failure. I know my younger self believed that note with all her heart, and probably was trying to warn herself away from drawing more.
Another note to myself. From me, right now, to that angry littler me:
You were wrong. You were so wrong.
And thanks for not giving up on us and art."