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tealinIf I were to pinpoint a moment my drawing skills were at their peak, I would probably nominate early 2012. I had been animating for three years more or less consistently, was going to life drawing religiously, and was still excited enough about things generally to do drawings for myself for fun.
Later that year, I tried to go into design, and that was about as much of a disaster as it could be without getting fired. I just don't understand design. I got really insecure about my drawings and being anxious made me overthink. I couldn't turn out anything but uptight drafting exercises. It was as if I were locked in an airtight room and had to ration the creative oxygen I had. All the joy had gone from it and I was nosediving from exhaustion into the worst burnout I've ever had.
There was a brief reflowering after Duet – that had been occupational therapy for a lot of ex-Disneyites, and I learned how to love drawing again. But I also lost the use of my right hand for the better part of a year thanks to tendinitis. In a way it was providential, as it forced me to take a long break and let the room air out. When I finally could draw again, I seemed to have learned a lot about design that hadn't processed when I was consciously trying to learn it. More importantly, perhaps, I had made a fresh start, had exchanged a place that stressed me out for a place of harmony, novelty, and stimulation. I was not scraping the bottom of the barrel anymore. 2014 saw probably some of my most appealing drawings, if not my best – the fine motor control took a while to relearn. I'm not entirely sure I've got it back to its 2012 levels even now. But there was air, so much air.
I am finding myself at a choke point again. There are all sorts of factors in this: for one, I haven't had a job where I can sit down and draw for 8 hours a day, five days a week, for years. I am supposed to be working on my graphic novel, but there is always something I have to juggle it with – teaching, visa renewal, applying for and planning a month-long trip to actual Antarctica – so I frequently go long enough without drawing that I get rusty. Like a bicycle, that means going slower and more painfully; unlike a bicycle it also makes me insecure and self-conscious, with the resulting over-intellectualization of the process that strangles the product.
On top of that, there is the stress of The House, outlined previously, which is really coming to a head now. I have made it known that I am leaving; coincidentally, the same day, another housemate did the same. This leaves the house needing to find two new housemates while the country is on lockdown. For various reasons I don't think this will be as big a challenge as one might expect. However, Lovely Housemate sounds like she's on the fence about sticking it out or dissolving the household, and not-Lovely Housemate, who has lived here for ten years and has a deep need for control, is finding herself facing complete upheaval because of other people's actions, and spent most of yesterday having a tantrum about it. LH complained to me yesterday about the anxiety osmosis and sleeplessness that I've been struggling with for well over a year now. It's not a happy place.
The tension is manifesting in my drawings, or rather, in my inability to do them. I have been doing regular online 'life drawing' exercises to keep loose, and those aren't looking too bad, but as soon as I sit down to pull a drawing out of my head, everything freezes up. It feels exactly like when I was trying to impress people in the design department. All I can think about is how to get out of here as soon as humanly possible – I have a place, I just need to get my stuff there. The sooner I am out of the picture here, the sooner the others can get on with their lives, and the sooner I can benefit from yet another fresh start.
It does make me wonder, though, about the necessity of these regular fresh starts. When will I learn how to resolve a situation I'm in, instead of leaving? I am good at leaving, but that's not necessarily a positive trait. It's starting to feel a bit like a family curse at this point. But the fresh air opens one's lungs so ...
Later that year, I tried to go into design, and that was about as much of a disaster as it could be without getting fired. I just don't understand design. I got really insecure about my drawings and being anxious made me overthink. I couldn't turn out anything but uptight drafting exercises. It was as if I were locked in an airtight room and had to ration the creative oxygen I had. All the joy had gone from it and I was nosediving from exhaustion into the worst burnout I've ever had.
There was a brief reflowering after Duet – that had been occupational therapy for a lot of ex-Disneyites, and I learned how to love drawing again. But I also lost the use of my right hand for the better part of a year thanks to tendinitis. In a way it was providential, as it forced me to take a long break and let the room air out. When I finally could draw again, I seemed to have learned a lot about design that hadn't processed when I was consciously trying to learn it. More importantly, perhaps, I had made a fresh start, had exchanged a place that stressed me out for a place of harmony, novelty, and stimulation. I was not scraping the bottom of the barrel anymore. 2014 saw probably some of my most appealing drawings, if not my best – the fine motor control took a while to relearn. I'm not entirely sure I've got it back to its 2012 levels even now. But there was air, so much air.
I am finding myself at a choke point again. There are all sorts of factors in this: for one, I haven't had a job where I can sit down and draw for 8 hours a day, five days a week, for years. I am supposed to be working on my graphic novel, but there is always something I have to juggle it with – teaching, visa renewal, applying for and planning a month-long trip to actual Antarctica – so I frequently go long enough without drawing that I get rusty. Like a bicycle, that means going slower and more painfully; unlike a bicycle it also makes me insecure and self-conscious, with the resulting over-intellectualization of the process that strangles the product.
On top of that, there is the stress of The House, outlined previously, which is really coming to a head now. I have made it known that I am leaving; coincidentally, the same day, another housemate did the same. This leaves the house needing to find two new housemates while the country is on lockdown. For various reasons I don't think this will be as big a challenge as one might expect. However, Lovely Housemate sounds like she's on the fence about sticking it out or dissolving the household, and not-Lovely Housemate, who has lived here for ten years and has a deep need for control, is finding herself facing complete upheaval because of other people's actions, and spent most of yesterday having a tantrum about it. LH complained to me yesterday about the anxiety osmosis and sleeplessness that I've been struggling with for well over a year now. It's not a happy place.
The tension is manifesting in my drawings, or rather, in my inability to do them. I have been doing regular online 'life drawing' exercises to keep loose, and those aren't looking too bad, but as soon as I sit down to pull a drawing out of my head, everything freezes up. It feels exactly like when I was trying to impress people in the design department. All I can think about is how to get out of here as soon as humanly possible – I have a place, I just need to get my stuff there. The sooner I am out of the picture here, the sooner the others can get on with their lives, and the sooner I can benefit from yet another fresh start.
It does make me wonder, though, about the necessity of these regular fresh starts. When will I learn how to resolve a situation I'm in, instead of leaving? I am good at leaving, but that's not necessarily a positive trait. It's starting to feel a bit like a family curse at this point. But the fresh air opens one's lungs so ...
