A confession
My heart is heavy.
Somewhere, somewhen, I bought into the idea that I could never be a successful artist.
But destiny, if you could call it that, or perhaps some eccentricity in my own nature, compels me along this path.
Maybe it's my lack of success in other paths. Web development, frankly, hasn't worked out so well for me here. I can't seem to beat the competition, and then I can't seem to convince my clients to trust me. Then I can't seem to play by their rules, no matter how hard I try, and finally I can't seem to deal with what seems like a lot of stress for very little progress. And the cycle begins anew.
I only want to be honored for the work that I do, as do we all, and the only place I've ever felt that to my bones is in creating a work of art. Maybe the money's better in a tech field (and maybe it isn't, in this economy), but I've experienced nothing like the feeling of turning over a thing of beauty and knowing it's good.
And my heart is heavy. It knows, somehow, that I'm following a path not right for me.
Dad wanted me to be an engineer, like him. "Don't lock yourself into one thing," Mom said, meaning drawing pictures for a living, "because there are so many things you're good at that you could, really, take your pick."
What Mom and Dad couldn't tell me was this:
No one can promise that you'll find success when you follow your passion. But follow it, you must.
Or you'll go mad.
Maybe this isn't true for everyone. Hell, maybe it's not true for me.
But I can't pretend that these silly stories and useless images of beauty aren't a part of me anymore. And I can't consign them any longer to some dusty, unused corner of my life labeled "In My Spare Time."
I'm going mad.
Thanks, Dad, for showing me that there's an engineer inside me; and thanks to Mom for teaching me to keep my options open.
But your daughter's found a Hidden Way; her eyes see into another world. What I bring back may not be of much value to the real world, but that doesn't excuse me from following this path.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. -Robert Frost
I must be mad.
Somewhere, somewhen, I bought into the idea that I could never be a successful artist.
But destiny, if you could call it that, or perhaps some eccentricity in my own nature, compels me along this path.
Maybe it's my lack of success in other paths. Web development, frankly, hasn't worked out so well for me here. I can't seem to beat the competition, and then I can't seem to convince my clients to trust me. Then I can't seem to play by their rules, no matter how hard I try, and finally I can't seem to deal with what seems like a lot of stress for very little progress. And the cycle begins anew.
I only want to be honored for the work that I do, as do we all, and the only place I've ever felt that to my bones is in creating a work of art. Maybe the money's better in a tech field (and maybe it isn't, in this economy), but I've experienced nothing like the feeling of turning over a thing of beauty and knowing it's good.
And my heart is heavy. It knows, somehow, that I'm following a path not right for me.
Dad wanted me to be an engineer, like him. "Don't lock yourself into one thing," Mom said, meaning drawing pictures for a living, "because there are so many things you're good at that you could, really, take your pick."
What Mom and Dad couldn't tell me was this:
No one can promise that you'll find success when you follow your passion. But follow it, you must.
Or you'll go mad.
Maybe this isn't true for everyone. Hell, maybe it's not true for me.
But I can't pretend that these silly stories and useless images of beauty aren't a part of me anymore. And I can't consign them any longer to some dusty, unused corner of my life labeled "In My Spare Time."
I'm going mad.
Thanks, Dad, for showing me that there's an engineer inside me; and thanks to Mom for teaching me to keep my options open.
But your daughter's found a Hidden Way; her eyes see into another world. What I bring back may not be of much value to the real world, but that doesn't excuse me from following this path.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. -Robert Frost
I must be mad.