I need this like I need water.

"Here I am.. this is me.. there's no other place that I'd rather be..."

Sorry Bryan I'm gonna have to cut you off right there (Kanye Style) but I've been swimming in frustration and anxiety for a while now.

Some people say artists themselves have Love/Hate relationships with art. Well, I'm doing a lot of the HATING - right now.

Here's the ever so depressing thought process that goes through my mind:

Fuck Mondays man.. 2 classes of drawing from life back to back that total up to 8 hours of staring till your brain melts. Oh not to mention the moment I get to the awkwardly silent drawing class I get to know how wrong my hand eye co-ordination truly is. This makes me love being an artist, I mean it is the epitome of what I'm looking for in art - being wrong. Next class I get to spend more hours being wrong again!

Gouge my eyes out already. Seriously.

I love feeling like I have to be reminded that I'm not on par with people who have practiced religiously from their youth. They're miles away and I'm still here learning what perspective is for the billionth fucking time since 6th grade - but hey I'm still too dumb or blind or something to depict it with absolute perfection. Oh the memories of my teacher drawing over my work and saying "wrong wrong wrong" just don't seem to dissipate. I'm 27 years old and I'm feeling like a 12 year old.


NOT ENOUGH - let's move on further, to discuss why this is killing me. It's not about being wrong only,
no not at all, it's about being reminded that I'll never be "on par". Art has become very much representational lately. Not saying that's a bad thing.. that requires lots of skill, precision, you know the thing someone like me without an abundant amount of YOU GO GIRL juice doesn't have.

When I was in Middle School, I finally got to take Art as a class on it's own. I was so excited, it's about the only thing that kept me feeling like I don't know.. like I was good at something. To my surprise when I get there my teachers grading method was a matter of comparing who had skill and who didn't. Your effort grade was based on a number and your letter grade - well that was whether you had talent or not.
B - 1
That was my grade, no matter how much I enjoyed what I did. I would always hear him talk about the same girl over and over, and how wonderful she was. Katie this, Katie that. She was awesome, she really was, I wasn't debating that. I felt reprimanded for someone else having more skill. I was told he had to grade that way because there was no other way to grade Art.

I switched schools, things changed, I wasn't Katie yet, not until someone with more talent and skill graduated. I was still B - 1. Even after I got my A, I still feel, and will always feel like B - 1.
That's not good enough. It's not loved, it's not worthwhile, it passes, but it doesn't shine. It's just there to be dimmer than the brighter star.

I wasn't raised to think positively of all my situations. You either were the best or you were nothing. It's not healthy but every time I willingly walk to my demoralization on Mondays, I remind myself that this is my fault. I'm not squeezing enough hours in, I'm not obsessing as much as I should, i.e. every second I breathe or gasp. I was born second rate, always seen as second rate, it's only fair that no matter how hard I work on something I love, that it's still not good enough.

Stars don't stop shining because one imploded in on itself. They just don't give a fuck.

P.S. Someone give me a cat to hold.