A song about life, death, love, hate, poverty, racism. Just a few things running through my head.
So, I'm feeling underappreciated again. I go through this every few months, you know the drill - I desparately, harebrainedly attempt to rake in more fans for a few weeks, then fail, then go on hiatus while I sort things out and, really, the only thing I can say at this point is that I'll try and keep the hiatus out of this one. I know that a lot of the problems with this comic stem from inconsistency in updates as well as artistic style, and I swear to you people that I am working on it.
My personal problems these days stem from lack of appreciation from fellow artists. I have the mutual respect of some - gents from Badly Drawn Kitties, 1/0, RPG World, and Albion Fuzz alike - but even as others move steadily up the ladder, appearing in issues of Comixpedia and being interviewed, linked to, and generally adored, I'm still - in spite of learning all about artistic technique and story structuring through personal experience - in the same damn place I was in two years ago, with a rotating stock of around one hundred fans, many of them friends and family (as well as acquaintances from the IRC channel I frequent).
Here's a question: If you were a ridiculous performance artist, eating hundreds of apples onstage as a representation of your life's story, would you do it in an empty auditorium in an alley?
Now, following that metaphor, if you had an audience that sat in complete silence as you performed your work in front of them in that auditorium, then left after you were done without applauding or saying a word?
Again in that same vein of reasoning, what if you performed in a separate, smaller room in the auditorium, only the audience could see you through a one-way mirror and you had no idea whether or not they even existed? But the theatre manager brings you stacks of paper every day, telling you that your ticket sales were lousy, but most of the people who do come in think it's fabulous?
What if the only way to advertise your show and finally make yourself heard was through your peers? What if they didn't acknowledge or return your phone calls and letters? Or if they did, only as a quick scribbling, "That's cool, good job, whatever, thanks, bye."
Wouldn't that make you feel like SHIT? Wouldn't you want to start throwing running lawnmowers off the Sears tower? Wouldn't you want to hunt down and slap the living bejeezus out of Corey Kitley, who through some miracle of modern science still has more fans than you've EVER had?
On an unrelated note, count the cameos I've gotten in my artistic career. Count 'em. Ryan Smith survives the apocalypse.
All I'm saying is when you commit yourself for three days to draw a guest comic for a well-known comrade in the community, you expect to get some props afterwards; maybe a pat on the back, a reposting on his site, maybe a link back and some friendly encouragement. Not a two-sentence email and complete silence.
Anyway, sorry for bitching in front of you -again-. Believe me, if you're reading this, this probably doesn't apply to you. I'm not commanding anyone to mail me or do anything else, I just felt the need to vent in a public space and it worked; I feel tons better.
Still, if anyone has any ideas for getting toe word out, I'm game...
My personal problems these days stem from lack of appreciation from fellow artists. I have the mutual respect of some - gents from Badly Drawn Kitties, 1/0, RPG World, and Albion Fuzz alike - but even as others move steadily up the ladder, appearing in issues of Comixpedia and being interviewed, linked to, and generally adored, I'm still - in spite of learning all about artistic technique and story structuring through personal experience - in the same damn place I was in two years ago, with a rotating stock of around one hundred fans, many of them friends and family (as well as acquaintances from the IRC channel I frequent).
Here's a question: If you were a ridiculous performance artist, eating hundreds of apples onstage as a representation of your life's story, would you do it in an empty auditorium in an alley?
Now, following that metaphor, if you had an audience that sat in complete silence as you performed your work in front of them in that auditorium, then left after you were done without applauding or saying a word?
Again in that same vein of reasoning, what if you performed in a separate, smaller room in the auditorium, only the audience could see you through a one-way mirror and you had no idea whether or not they even existed? But the theatre manager brings you stacks of paper every day, telling you that your ticket sales were lousy, but most of the people who do come in think it's fabulous?
What if the only way to advertise your show and finally make yourself heard was through your peers? What if they didn't acknowledge or return your phone calls and letters? Or if they did, only as a quick scribbling, "That's cool, good job, whatever, thanks, bye."
Wouldn't that make you feel like SHIT? Wouldn't you want to start throwing running lawnmowers off the Sears tower? Wouldn't you want to hunt down and slap the living bejeezus out of Corey Kitley, who through some miracle of modern science still has more fans than you've EVER had?
On an unrelated note, count the cameos I've gotten in my artistic career. Count 'em. Ryan Smith survives the apocalypse.
All I'm saying is when you commit yourself for three days to draw a guest comic for a well-known comrade in the community, you expect to get some props afterwards; maybe a pat on the back, a reposting on his site, maybe a link back and some friendly encouragement. Not a two-sentence email and complete silence.
Anyway, sorry for bitching in front of you -again-. Believe me, if you're reading this, this probably doesn't apply to you. I'm not commanding anyone to mail me or do anything else, I just felt the need to vent in a public space and it worked; I feel tons better.
Still, if anyone has any ideas for getting toe word out, I'm game...