1.6 litre speed demon (artificialworld) wrote,
1.6 litre speed demon

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Please, someone, enlighten me:

What possesses me to think that even though I can not draw my own shit, I might possibly be able to overcome my crippling perfectionist mentality long enough to draw someone else's?

It's obviously not the money. I almost never feel justified in charging anyone for my artwork because 99.9% of the time, I think it sucks. So maybe I'm just a masochist. I secretly enjoy having unfinished projects hanging over my head and having people on my ass about finishing them. I suppose it's my own fault for agreeing to undertake said projects when I know that throughout my life, I have consistently managed to hold an unfinished/completed project ratio of approximately 358 to 1.

The only reason I can get things done for work is because I'm forced to sit in front of a computer for 8 hours a day, and if my task is to draw, then I may as well draw because I have nothing else to do. Left to my own devices, I start out brimming with enthusiasm and good intentions and then gradually slow down. And continually lose steam until eventually, the project gathers dust or gets buried under mountains of papers and other crap, and I pretend that by ignoring it completely, I can make it disappear off into the ether where it will never trouble me again. In one case, the person I was doing something for actually died before I ever completed the project. I don't exactly consider that my crowning achievement. Yet for some reason, I seem to insist on agreeing to work on projects that I know I will never see through to completion. This is precisely why I will never make it as an artist, and why that 60,000-dollar piece of paper still sits on my bookshelf encased in the envelope it was mailed in. Mother of Christ.

I wonder if it would help if I had someone take my computer away from me. And my car. And bar me from the kitchen so I couldn't get to the stove to make tea 365,000 times a day. And essentially barricade me in my room with all contents removed except for me, a stack of paper, an eraser, and a bucket of mechanical pencils and refuse to let me out until I completed something. Anything. Because I sure as hell can't do it myself.
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