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People often ask why I haven't become a professional artist rather than a scientist. One of my most used answers is the unreliability of my artistic inspiration. If one can call it that.
It used to scare me horribly when I couldn't scribble even the simplest shape. Then I slowly understood that inspiration comes in seasonal waves, and that those frustrating moments of constant sketching and erasing will eventually be replaced by a sudden boosts of creativity. I accept that.
Lately, however, the phases of frustration have become longer. I feel I'm forcing myself to come up with clever drawings but all I can do is waste paper. Somehow my brain feels numb and is incapable. Tired, most of the time. Above all, never relaxed.
I seriously hope this is not adulthood finally kicking in.
It used to scare me horribly when I couldn't scribble even the simplest shape. Then I slowly understood that inspiration comes in seasonal waves, and that those frustrating moments of constant sketching and erasing will eventually be replaced by a sudden boosts of creativity. I accept that.
Lately, however, the phases of frustration have become longer. I feel I'm forcing myself to come up with clever drawings but all I can do is waste paper. Somehow my brain feels numb and is incapable. Tired, most of the time. Above all, never relaxed.
I seriously hope this is not adulthood finally kicking in.
Pedromics
Sciency nerdy friends, I've created a page with some science-related cartoons on facebook.
Visit at www.facebook.com/pedromics
:)
Movember
This November I will be entering "Movember" where one grows a moustache for charity. I chose this because I can not run marathons or sing or do anything worth sponsoring - but I can get my upper lip area to be very hairy.
If you would like to sponsor my social-suicide please visit my Movember page: http://mobro.co/pedrovelica
More about Movember here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Movember and here: http://uk.movember.com/about/
Thank you!
My porcelain cat and I
I sit down with my drawing pad, my pencils, my pens, my stiffened brush. I turn on the lamp and take a glimpse at the porcelain cat I bought as a joke. I put my forearms on top of the clever Ikea table that folds and unfolds according to my modern personal needs. I adjust my bottom on the uncomfortable chair, cross my legs, then put them straight again. I shuffle through my music as if browsing for inspiration but the collection is too diverse.
I'm forcing myself to be creative. To do something clever, something artistic.
But my head is a sprinkler instead of a quiet stream. Thoughts bounce erratically: the new gas and electricity bill, the
Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
I have broken the glass and pressed the big red emergency stop button. "Stop this life, I want to get out!"
So I jumped off the train and took control of my life again.
I am happier then ever.
(dot dot dot)
© 2008 - 2024 Velica
Comments8
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Oh man! I know what you mean. Since my health hasn't been too well, I never seem to have the energy to pick up a pencil. When I do, I am completely unsatisfied with what I've done and get horribly depressed.