I've had a recent sudden understanding of my own relationship with art, and how I had begun to drift away from it.

When my computer broke, it was the first time I had picked it up to do art in about two weeks. I had been avoiding art, I realize now, but I could not see it then. I had lost what I had found to be enjoyable in art. Why? I believe now it was because I was so stressed, wrapping my mind around the single thought: that I must become successful.

When it broke, the moment was sheer horror. Not because I had lost a valuable piece of machinery. Although of course I had, what was more shattering was the realization of what I was actually holding in my hands. My lost friend - my creativity.

I bought that computer to make art of course. It's my ideal art companion, everything I would ever need to make as much art as I desired. But, alas, it was sitting and getting dusty atop my desktop PC tower, with which I was playing Skyrim and modding or doing mild research. I'd glance at the Asus EP121 sometimes and realize I'd been avoiding it.


One day, I decided I'd better start drawing again. But it wasn't as joyous a feeling as I'd remembered, like the first time I drew with that tablet PC. No, it was more along the lines of "well I'd better get it over with." But when it started up and I heard the familiar tone of Windows 7 booting, and saw the familiar background and icons and toolbar, my joy started naturally rising again as it once had. I remembered, I loved to draw with this tablet.

Then it all went wrong in a matter of moments, and I lost the machine. But I had realized finally, that I had been losing something much more important. Now that it was gone, I realized just how much I had been losing my direction, my tenacious ambition which I had held onto for so many years.

I was again revitalized when I picked up and dusted off an old Fujitsu Lifebook laptop with a resistive touch screen. You see, I had sold my Intuos 4 a few months prior to this disaster and, I have nothing left to make art with. Besides that touch screen. It has no pressure sensitivity, so I thought I would never be able to draw with it. But I decided I had to try, and I had to make a vent art about me losing my Ep121.

So I opened up crappy old MS Paint. To my complete astonishment, I found it was not bad at all to sketch with the small stylus with no pressure sensitivity. It really felt like a challenge, can I actually make art with these minimalistic tools? It reminded me of learning how to draw all over again, and I had a lot of fun. I actually think I made something decent and artistic out of it. And I feel much better now for it.

I realized as long as I have my ambition, I can lose everything else around me and still be able to climb back up to - where? Success? I don't know for sure, but I know if I can maintain this direction, I'll end up somewhere better than nowhere.

Aha, sorry for the sudden story about my experience, but I meant to call on it as a method of reassurance for you. I really believe you have a lot of potential. From what I can see you're very creative and very thoughtful. In fact in a way, you almost remind me of myself.

I can tell you have a lot of ambition, but I also definitely pick up on that note of stress you've been conveying. And I'm sure you know, every artist experiences the stress of ongoing progress and perfection. But I thought I could maybe make a suggestion that might be of help to you, it definitely is extremely helpful to me, when I can remember to do it.

Sketch. Sketch as fast as you can, whatever you feel like, and only stop to perfect it once you've composed the whole piece. I know it may sound like I'm asking you to do basically what any artist does when they compose any piece. But this is slightly different. Don't try to compose it in your mind beforehand, don't think of the pose first, just sketch. Whatever happens happens, and then you go from there. Guide yourself with very basic concepts, like "I want to have this or that conveyed in this pose" but never stop to think about how to execute it, just keep scribbling until you're satisfied. And don't, absolutely do not, worry about cleaning up the lines. Let them be scribbly and all over the place, except in only a few areas you decide to perfect if you see fit. You'll start to realize that you have the capacity to portray a vast perception of motion and form that you didn't realize until then, those scribbly lines are infinitely detailed, chaotic and orderly at once.

This might be something you'd hear in an art class. You may have heard it before actually, and maybe it's not your taste. But I do so encourage you to try it, even if it seems ungainly. It might look like utter crap at first, but trust me, it's what has made me love art more and more, and what I believe has helped me the most to progress than any other type of practice.

It definitely has the effect of circumventing the routine stress I encounter when I try to be exactly precise in every piece I conduct. Of course there are so many different techniques to practice, and the look and feel of a sketch may not always be what you're after. But once and a while at least, try it out, you might be surprised.

Ahh, again I apologize for the huge amount of text here. I hope it's helpful to you though. Also I'm not trying to assert anything on you honestly, if it sounds pushy it's just the way I was conveying it at the time. It's all up to you, everything is. I just hope that if you do try my suggestion that it's as useful to you as it is to me.