rainygalaxyparagon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rainygalaxyparagon) wrote2024-05-06 05:01 pm
rainygalaxyparagon) wrote2024-05-06 05:01 pm
Entry tags:
To Draw...
I wouldn't call myself an artist. When asked by passerby, I say "I doodle ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ!" in reply. For a long time I thought that there was an epistemological reason behind what was hung in an art gallery. That a quantifiable, measurable action could be taken to ensure success and a quick sale. It was when a piece of work that had taken 36 hours to complete was rejected because I did not purchase a frame prior in favor of a pair of $10 shoes smeared with glitter from heel to toe that I realized meaning could be found in the metaphysical. I knew it to be true with how museum curators were displayed on television, but to come face-to-face with the rancid phenomenon? It stole my breath away. I was faced with the troubling juxtaposition that to be an artist was not in fact a verb but a noun, a title that could just as easily as it was bequeathed be taken away by someone with a veritable heritage.
I've long since given up on making a profit off of traditional and digital art. I trade it for a similarly valuable object with other members of the community or volunteer said services for free. When in exchange of an intangible product, such as fake currency, I am much more generous than with hard cash even if I need it.
Yet I still enjoy how when I draw the ink of a pen stains my long, slender fingers as it scratches across the paper. Back then I wrote of pencil lead and charcoal. To create without spilling a bit of the creation on yourself is sacrilege, hearsay- of particular weight when cooking. Little did I know that I would grow up to become a chef, a baker. Now I paint with flour and egg on a canvas of metal. I still draw from time to time with a strong preference for permanent marker. I may never graduate from ruled paper, scared to stray from the edge of a meeting's notes, but at least I can bring life to a piece of nature inside a sterile building.
I've long since given up on making a profit off of traditional and digital art. I trade it for a similarly valuable object with other members of the community or volunteer said services for free. When in exchange of an intangible product, such as fake currency, I am much more generous than with hard cash even if I need it.
Yet I still enjoy how when I draw the ink of a pen stains my long, slender fingers as it scratches across the paper. Back then I wrote of pencil lead and charcoal. To create without spilling a bit of the creation on yourself is sacrilege, hearsay- of particular weight when cooking. Little did I know that I would grow up to become a chef, a baker. Now I paint with flour and egg on a canvas of metal. I still draw from time to time with a strong preference for permanent marker. I may never graduate from ruled paper, scared to stray from the edge of a meeting's notes, but at least I can bring life to a piece of nature inside a sterile building.