I am not intimidated, nor afraid of the entities of big city life. Instead I find it to be very intriguing while they go about their daily hustles of work, networking, hip routines, and savvy ideals. I sit brewing. Ideas, concepts, my imagination my only escape. My hunger grows stronger. My thirst more unquenchable.
Little do people know that in the farmlands of Ohio in a house that looks more to the liking of a white trash, hill billy an artist/ writer inside plans massive undertakings of a creative nature. It is easy to stay motivated and creative when you are surrounded by input.
Out here I am in a creative vacuum. My only inspiration is lands and lands of nothingness. The only one's to appreciate my work are through means of internet connections. My friends remain entrenched in stimuli. West coast, east cost, major cities. They have it easy. The expectation and drive is higher. He I could just rot away and know one would be the wiser... But that is not my way. Here I grow. Perfecting my craft and honing my skill. When I spread my proverbial wings people will not know from where I came. There are very few if any artist that practice with such strict discipline as myself. Here I go unnoticed, unacknowledged, under appreciated. Basically, a nonexistent existence.
Of all the artist I know, I know none that have the ambition, diversity, and overall academic training that I have. Along with the time and situations that I have been blessed with. Others would look at my situation and feel pity and sorrow for me.
Yes, I sleep on a floor of shag carpet. Yes, I can feel the frigid cold winds blow through the wall of my room as a heater sits by head keeping me from catching pneumonia. Yes, my living situation is likened to that of someone living in a third world country. Yes, I cannot go anywhere I wish of my own free will and accord. As there is nowhere for me to go. I am in fact a prisoner my only escape is my creative and drive for success. I would have it no other way. This forced isolation allows me the freedom and option to do the only thing I can... Write, art, and figure everything out that I need to in order to be successful. Everyday I awake, is another day I am driven to succeed. Their is only one way out and that way is success. It is my only option, my only choice.
The struggle is in essence what I believe to be the one true measure of a man's worth. If one is not willing to sacrifice for their beliefs than how can it be said that they truly believe anything. With misery and failure also comes great triumph with success. One's self worth will be ten fold to that of whom everything is easy. Nothing is deserved or entitled.
What fills my heart, mind, and body with passion is that of the struggle. My need for success. To sit in the belly of failure is only to know too well the perils of idleness. Everyday I am bombarded with ideas, goals, ways to succeed. I explore all that I can even though it appears to fall on deaf ears. My inspiration comes from this frustration. The more people ignore me, the more visually assertive my paintings become. The more dynamic my writing turns. With each sign of failed success my ambition only grows greater, my confidence only stronger. This is the way I work. Compliments only allow for complacency and pig headedness. I do not care who likes what. What fuels my fire are the non believers. The negative minds. These are who I aim to disprove.
So for those that say I am no writer, watch me as I produce another novel... And another... And another...
This may be the reason why I have lost interest in art for now. No one has told me I can't do anything. All I ever received were compliments (financial compliments are much better received by the way). My compliment bank is full. Compliments are for conceded people with low self esteem. Neither of which I am. I don't need compliments. I know I am good. I am a professional and professionals are good at what they do... That is why they are professionals, hence the word.
When a mechanic fixes your car, you don't say, "Boy, your really good." You expect them to be good. That is their profession. They are doing their job. So, when I create a painting I don't look to hear the same. Just pay me as it is my profession. That is all I ask. That is the greatest compliment of all. Nothing else matters. If I want to hear how talented I am I'll just ask my mom.
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