Hi.
I think some of you might have noticed I don't really write journals anymore. Hell, I don't even know if any of you still write journals either, I haven't ventured to my friends page in ages. But I have a hard time finding things to say when I've stopped believing everyone always wants to know every single thought I have during the day.
I'm feeling whimsical. A little sentimental. I haven't written anything in so long, but suddenly I want to. It doesn't even have to be intelligible, I just miss getting things out of my head. Streaming consciousness, well-planned stories, musings, spontaneous late-night writing. I haven't been able to find the right words in so long that I just stopped. It's as though as soon as I started to concentrate on my art, which has vastly improved since two journal entries ago (hurr, a year and a half ago), I lost the concentration that writing takes.
When I'm drawing, I don't have to think. I can clear my head, forget about absolutely everything but the matter at hand. The right brush stroke, a subtle shadow. It's a level of focus I don't know how else to achieve.
I used to write like it was all I would ever have. Me and the words, that's all that ever made any difference. It was like a survival method. Most of the time, now, writing is more like an obligation and just another method of communication. Wenn ich wirklich wünschte, muss ich nicht sogar Englisch verwenden. Jedoch... However, it's supposed to be so much more. It's an art-form.
I miss painting with words. I used to find it so simple, so much easier than trying to actually depict it, recreate it. I find I've become the opposite of my 16 year old self. I can still write -- I think. I can still make something sound artistic, musical even. But since my understanding of the language has grown, my hesitance to use it has, as well. College studies has corrupted my simplicities. Now that I understand the meaning behind subtle phrasings, relearned fundamentals and details and gained an absolutely adoring appreciation (lol alliteration) for the English language, far more than I ever did, I can't make my pen write the stories that still trickle in my head.
Makes me a little bit sad.
For anyone curious, here are a few examples of what's apparently my current artistic ability:
Dean,
Smoke,
Succubus,
Succubus (demon),
cartoon portrait,
Stabbed,
Light
On another, similar note, I haven't been drawing as much as I used to. I'm so stressed that I can't even find it in myself to do that properly. My want for perfection is keeping me from even trying, so a lot of things are going on unfinished. I wish I could get my head around my stress so I can be calm about it and go back to my art.
Sigh.
I miss you guys. Some of you might want to start expecting calls or emails from me. This nonsense has gone on long enough.
<3
I'm feeling whimsical. A little sentimental. I haven't written anything in so long, but suddenly I want to. It doesn't even have to be intelligible, I just miss getting things out of my head. Streaming consciousness, well-planned stories, musings, spontaneous late-night writing. I haven't been able to find the right words in so long that I just stopped. It's as though as soon as I started to concentrate on my art, which has vastly improved since two journal entries ago (hurr, a year and a half ago), I lost the concentration that writing takes.
When I'm drawing, I don't have to think. I can clear my head, forget about absolutely everything but the matter at hand. The right brush stroke, a subtle shadow. It's a level of focus I don't know how else to achieve.
I used to write like it was all I would ever have. Me and the words, that's all that ever made any difference. It was like a survival method. Most of the time, now, writing is more like an obligation and just another method of communication. Wenn ich wirklich wünschte, muss ich nicht sogar Englisch verwenden. Jedoch... However, it's supposed to be so much more. It's an art-form.
I miss painting with words. I used to find it so simple, so much easier than trying to actually depict it, recreate it. I find I've become the opposite of my 16 year old self. I can still write -- I think. I can still make something sound artistic, musical even. But since my understanding of the language has grown, my hesitance to use it has, as well. College studies has corrupted my simplicities. Now that I understand the meaning behind subtle phrasings, relearned fundamentals and details and gained an absolutely adoring appreciation (lol alliteration) for the English language, far more than I ever did, I can't make my pen write the stories that still trickle in my head.
Makes me a little bit sad.
For anyone curious, here are a few examples of what's apparently my current artistic ability:
Dean,
Smoke,
Succubus,
Succubus (demon),
cartoon portrait,
Stabbed,
Light
On another, similar note, I haven't been drawing as much as I used to. I'm so stressed that I can't even find it in myself to do that properly. My want for perfection is keeping me from even trying, so a lot of things are going on unfinished. I wish I could get my head around my stress so I can be calm about it and go back to my art.
Sigh.
I miss you guys. Some of you might want to start expecting calls or emails from me. This nonsense has gone on long enough.
<3