“You desire to try things. You want to make them. Without need for perfection or practice. Because the why is more important than the how.”
I’m crying now. I’ve felt horrible my whole adult life because I can’t stick to any one thing long enough to become a real expert at it. I just keep trying new things. Because I love it.
I learned to throw a pot. I made a few. They weren’t great but I made them, and I know how clay feels under my hands now, and how amazing it is to feel something literally unfold from the tips of your fingers.
I wanted to learn to make books, so I made a little zine. It was really neat. I don’t want to do it again and again, but I learned how to fold and cut the pages to make what looks disjointed when it’s out of order look like a finished, complete, readable thing (holy crap, doing this is COOL).
I wanted to learn to carve; I learned to go slow, because you can’t add back what you take away.
Sculpting means working on a thing as a whole, before you get down to details.
Painting means breaking a thing down into stages, into bits and pieces, layers and layers; holding up a mirror to the mind, a mirror made out of color, saturation, value, contrast, composition. (I’m sort of good at this one, I guess, but it’s the hardest to describe.)
Taught myself photoshop and some basic graphic design principles because how else can I make covers for these self-pub stories I wrote? They don’t look like they came from a big 5 publishing house, but they still look really good to me! I learned a lot about composition, and boy do I love fonts!
Sewing is like a big frustrating 3-dimensional puzzle that has to fit on a moving target (I . . . didn’t enjoy that one much, but I made some cool things).
I’ve learned *so much* but I always feel so awful that I can’t do anything at a professional level. I feel like I should concentrate on something and maybe I’ll be able to take care of myself doing it someday (I’m disabled with mental illness; I can’t work a regular job) and justify . . . *waves hands helplessly* EVERYTHING.
This is literally the first and only time I’ve ever seen a piece of fiction state outright that *messing around and playing with all kinds of arts and hobbies and not being a pro at any of them is okay*.
That it’s a valid goddamn personality type and I don’t have to be ASHAMED of it.
Thank you for this. I’m sorry I didn’t read it sooner, I was waiting for it to wrap, and then I got wound up in Big Life Stuff and never got to it.
Happy Birthday!
Yahua!! finally! that answer is awesome…by the way, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope you enjoy it, remember to smile a lot, to hug a lot and to eat a lot 😀
oh, good answer 0_0 guess he does have some poetic writing skill doesn’t he? 🙂
Happy B-Day! ???
KISSKISSKISSKISSKISSKISSKISS
Happy birthday!
HHSHSHDHDHSHSHDHDFFFHFFHS!!
Happy Birthday, Amy! <3
Happy Birthday 🙂
Aaaaaagh, the feels! This is like… cathartic or something!!
Ohh, Happy Birthday, dear!
Happy Birthday!
“You desire to try things. You want to make them. Without need for perfection or practice. Because the why is more important than the how.”
I’m crying now. I’ve felt horrible my whole adult life because I can’t stick to any one thing long enough to become a real expert at it. I just keep trying new things. Because I love it.
I learned to throw a pot. I made a few. They weren’t great but I made them, and I know how clay feels under my hands now, and how amazing it is to feel something literally unfold from the tips of your fingers.
I wanted to learn to make books, so I made a little zine. It was really neat. I don’t want to do it again and again, but I learned how to fold and cut the pages to make what looks disjointed when it’s out of order look like a finished, complete, readable thing (holy crap, doing this is COOL).
I wanted to learn to carve; I learned to go slow, because you can’t add back what you take away.
Sculpting means working on a thing as a whole, before you get down to details.
Painting means breaking a thing down into stages, into bits and pieces, layers and layers; holding up a mirror to the mind, a mirror made out of color, saturation, value, contrast, composition. (I’m sort of good at this one, I guess, but it’s the hardest to describe.)
Taught myself photoshop and some basic graphic design principles because how else can I make covers for these self-pub stories I wrote? They don’t look like they came from a big 5 publishing house, but they still look really good to me! I learned a lot about composition, and boy do I love fonts!
Sewing is like a big frustrating 3-dimensional puzzle that has to fit on a moving target (I . . . didn’t enjoy that one much, but I made some cool things).
I’ve learned *so much* but I always feel so awful that I can’t do anything at a professional level. I feel like I should concentrate on something and maybe I’ll be able to take care of myself doing it someday (I’m disabled with mental illness; I can’t work a regular job) and justify . . . *waves hands helplessly* EVERYTHING.
This is literally the first and only time I’ve ever seen a piece of fiction state outright that *messing around and playing with all kinds of arts and hobbies and not being a pro at any of them is okay*.
That it’s a valid goddamn personality type and I don’t have to be ASHAMED of it.
Thank you for this. I’m sorry I didn’t read it sooner, I was waiting for it to wrap, and then I got wound up in Big Life Stuff and never got to it.
I still have so much I want to learn…