I remember when I was a youngster. It was an easy time when all you had to worry about was schoolwork. In those times, I don't think that I could easily go on throughout the day without drawing something.
Of course, at the ages of ten through twelve, all I drew was Dragon Ball Z and Superman fan-art. Now that I think about it, I don't believe really even like Superman that much, but I lived in a town where Superman is idolized, so I naturally felt obligated to be apart of its subculture. When I say that there was never a day that had gone by without me drawing something, I mean quite literally that (
well, I'm not including the time I was grounded from drawing anything at all after my grandmother found a drawing of Android 18 nude, lying on a bed, but that didn't mean I wasn't secretly drawing at school). My portfolio, which back then was just a school folder, consisted of tons of meaningless drawings shoved into its pockets. I never did anything conceptual. It was all straight projects. I made sure that once I started drawing, I would finish. Every. Single. Day.
As I grew older and other priorities came with age, drawing became less prominent in my life. Even though I had broadened my horizons of both style and creativity, meaning I just drew a bunch of busty anime girls. Realism hadn't quite been my forte at fifteen. I knew I wanted to be better and diverse, but anime was a huge part of my life at that point. Then, as my sophomore year of high school came, I finally got what I was looking for. I got into Art I. I owe a lot of my skill and perception to Cindy Bazor, who as our instructor taught me a great deal of not just realism, but art in general. In that very class, I completed my very first Selma Blair portrait. I did much more of her throughout that year, but nothing compared to what I would later do. All throughout my high school years, I only got better and more creative, even lending a hand to watercolor. I wasn't quite as good at that, but there is something about watercolor as a medium that brings an odd sort of comfort. I remember having that feeling every day of the week of looking forward to art class. Every class I attended, I remember thinking of whatever project I had been doing. After my session in art class ended, I would leave thinking of the project again. Bad days turned good when I would enter the classroom, ready to sit at my desk and steal away from the world as I bled my heart through my pencil.
Still, it changed.
After high school, projects were at best scarce. Gaps of time as long as months separated them. Don't get me wrong, the projects were as expected and beyond fulfilling. The worst part is that never really noticed. That was also when I began to focus on my writing. Perhaps that is where things began to change, when writing began to dominate my life. I must mention quickly here that there a year-long gap between high school in college. I had been writing a book since I was fifteen years old, but it did not really become such a priority until this point in my life. That was, of course, only two years ago from now, but it seems like decades. Despite the immense gaps of having done no projects at all, I was still content with my life in art. My projects, in my opinion, were meaningful and fulfilling.
Then I entered college.
This was when I became the unhappy shrewd I am today. It is as if I grew up too fast. The necessities of adulthood falcon punched me in the crotch. The stress that comes with growing up is something often overlooked by children, who might often think something like, "That'll be easy!" But it's not. At all. It's not so much that both school and work are time consuming, because I could easy create a new project at any time between them. But with my stress brought overwhelming lack of motivation. I hate myself because of it. What gaps were once minutes that turned into days and then into months now has turned into a year. I cannot call myself an artist anymore. How could I be, if I no longer can create. I think the only thing that keeps art alive in my life is the sketches I do when I am in class. But after looking over the past two years and realizing how large these gaps had become, I conclude how lifeless I really am. Art is almost gone from my life completely. I wish I could say differently, tell myself to get my ass out of this chair and JUST FUCKING DRAW! But I won't.
And that, my friends, is my metamorphosis.