Was sitting on the can reading through some old papers in which my instructors had lavished unwarranted praise.
At the time - say as a Sophomore in college - I was as much a slackass as I am now, or as I was in 4th grade.
In particular, a poetry class in which despite turning on only half the assignments, I merited a B based on my writing.
I'm not much of a writer (and the internet has not been a positive influence) - Despite having an appreciation for writing, I always thought I was more visually based in terms of creativity.
Nonetheless, I used to at least feel motivated to create - even if it was sporadic and not even on demand. That is to say, I could sometimes let down my guard and at the same time I was actually putting a piece of myself into my work, I was also able to temporarily suspend my absolute disdain for my own work. In other words, I was, if only for a little while, unselfconscious enough to be able to lay ink on paper or paint on canvas without being frozen with concern that it would either reveal my inadequacies - as an artist or as a human being.
I mellowed out at school, I was, for a short glorious moment, even comfortable in my own skin. I've always liked driving fast, but I've never been in a hurry. Lately, I find myself tailgating everyone not doing the speed limit, cursing under my breath at the old people or black people who totter or saunter slowly in front of my vehicle when I am driving through parking lots.
Now, when I am in my vehicle during the day, I drive with the rearview flipped to "night" so I don't make unwanted eye contact with the people stopped behind me at red lights.
I remember from my courses - though I don't remember if it was the psychology or the neuroscience - that anger is chemically identical to fear, and that the only difference is the social context in which the mind places it. Which is funny, because I really haven't felt an emotion that wasn't a form of anger or fear for a very long time. Sadness, perhaps, but I had been so sad for so long that I made a point of not watching or reading anything that I feel might make me unhappy. As corny as it sounds, I haven't even managed to watch SW ep3 yet, because I can't force myself to sit through something that I know will be dark ...
And with that nonsense in mind, I return to the topic of my thread, although the futility is evident to me.
Occasionally, I have creative brainstorms, but I lack the ability(discipline?) to harness them and the courage to apply them. I actually sent a portfolio to an MFA program a year after college, but never managed to send in the paperwork because I was stumped by the statement of intent. All I could manage was a load of self-indulgant depressive and utterly pessimistic dreck that wasn't half as coherent as this post. I've always been a particularly honest person, and I've never seen the Value (though I am aware of the value) of demagoguery. So the forms went unsent, and some hobo probably pulled them and my SS# out of my trash, while some hobo in Chicago hopefully kept himself warm and high on the fumes from my videotape combusting in a steel drum.
It strikes me that almost a decade later, I am no more prepared to enter a structured program - less so, since I now have a decade of masturbating in front of a computer (mentally or otherwise) instead of a decade of building my oeuvre. By all standards of what is known of nearly all artists that merited any designation beyond "mediocre" or any assignation other than motel decoration, my time has already passed.
Frankly, the odds there is a single person who has read this far, much less someone who can give firsthand advice about whether it would be wise, valuable, or even practical to seek an MFA, are pretty slim. However, after all the emo angsty midlife myspace crap like 10 million other wannabe artists of the internet, here it is:
Obviously I have issues that prevent me from intereacting fully with society in a positive fashion. Particularly since this includes an aversion to deadlines, I would presume this would prevent me from successfully completing an MFA. Is this true, or are there institutions that cater to "crazy artists".
One possible way of getting my life "back on track" could be the use of antidepressants (as therapy did absolutely jack but drain me of whatever happiness $1k worth of material goods could have purchased.) Are there any artists here who know first or secondhand what using antidepressants can do to both the desire to create and the quality and focus of the work? I mean, I might take Zoloft and decide I'd rather be balancing my checkbook or something, which quite frankly scares me.
Which provides unmitigated proof that bird flu was genetically engineered in South African labs with the purpose of eliminating blacks and arabs. One can only assume that the crossover to asian and caucasian phenotypes was an accidental mutation outside the lab.
Cliffs: We're all gonna die
At the time - say as a Sophomore in college - I was as much a slackass as I am now, or as I was in 4th grade.
In particular, a poetry class in which despite turning on only half the assignments, I merited a B based on my writing.
I'm not much of a writer (and the internet has not been a positive influence) - Despite having an appreciation for writing, I always thought I was more visually based in terms of creativity.
Nonetheless, I used to at least feel motivated to create - even if it was sporadic and not even on demand. That is to say, I could sometimes let down my guard and at the same time I was actually putting a piece of myself into my work, I was also able to temporarily suspend my absolute disdain for my own work. In other words, I was, if only for a little while, unselfconscious enough to be able to lay ink on paper or paint on canvas without being frozen with concern that it would either reveal my inadequacies - as an artist or as a human being.
I mellowed out at school, I was, for a short glorious moment, even comfortable in my own skin. I've always liked driving fast, but I've never been in a hurry. Lately, I find myself tailgating everyone not doing the speed limit, cursing under my breath at the old people or black people who totter or saunter slowly in front of my vehicle when I am driving through parking lots.
Now, when I am in my vehicle during the day, I drive with the rearview flipped to "night" so I don't make unwanted eye contact with the people stopped behind me at red lights.
I remember from my courses - though I don't remember if it was the psychology or the neuroscience - that anger is chemically identical to fear, and that the only difference is the social context in which the mind places it. Which is funny, because I really haven't felt an emotion that wasn't a form of anger or fear for a very long time. Sadness, perhaps, but I had been so sad for so long that I made a point of not watching or reading anything that I feel might make me unhappy. As corny as it sounds, I haven't even managed to watch SW ep3 yet, because I can't force myself to sit through something that I know will be dark ...
And with that nonsense in mind, I return to the topic of my thread, although the futility is evident to me.
Occasionally, I have creative brainstorms, but I lack the ability(discipline?) to harness them and the courage to apply them. I actually sent a portfolio to an MFA program a year after college, but never managed to send in the paperwork because I was stumped by the statement of intent. All I could manage was a load of self-indulgant depressive and utterly pessimistic dreck that wasn't half as coherent as this post. I've always been a particularly honest person, and I've never seen the Value (though I am aware of the value) of demagoguery. So the forms went unsent, and some hobo probably pulled them and my SS# out of my trash, while some hobo in Chicago hopefully kept himself warm and high on the fumes from my videotape combusting in a steel drum.
It strikes me that almost a decade later, I am no more prepared to enter a structured program - less so, since I now have a decade of masturbating in front of a computer (mentally or otherwise) instead of a decade of building my oeuvre. By all standards of what is known of nearly all artists that merited any designation beyond "mediocre" or any assignation other than motel decoration, my time has already passed.
Frankly, the odds there is a single person who has read this far, much less someone who can give firsthand advice about whether it would be wise, valuable, or even practical to seek an MFA, are pretty slim. However, after all the emo angsty midlife myspace crap like 10 million other wannabe artists of the internet, here it is:
Obviously I have issues that prevent me from intereacting fully with society in a positive fashion. Particularly since this includes an aversion to deadlines, I would presume this would prevent me from successfully completing an MFA. Is this true, or are there institutions that cater to "crazy artists".
One possible way of getting my life "back on track" could be the use of antidepressants (as therapy did absolutely jack but drain me of whatever happiness $1k worth of material goods could have purchased.) Are there any artists here who know first or secondhand what using antidepressants can do to both the desire to create and the quality and focus of the work? I mean, I might take Zoloft and decide I'd rather be balancing my checkbook or something, which quite frankly scares me.
Which provides unmitigated proof that bird flu was genetically engineered in South African labs with the purpose of eliminating blacks and arabs. One can only assume that the crossover to asian and caucasian phenotypes was an accidental mutation outside the lab.
Cliffs: We're all gonna die