Well I don't know when I'll be able to upload this as I'm having serious problems connecting.
Sometimes I wish I were...different.
Not all that different, but I've been looking at my paintings and my artwork, and really wishing I were better. Wishing it came as naturally to me as writing does. My whole life everyone has always told me what a brilliant writer I am, particularly with my fiction.
I guess I take it for granted, but sometimes I wish it wasn't my strongest point. When I paint, I feel so at peace with myself. I feel so comfortable inside my own head and so fulfilled. And it seems sad that it's not visual arts where I'm the most talented, where it comes most naturally.
It's not that I'm not any good, but I'm certainly not brilliant. If I were to plod away I could in fact become very good. I could still affect to a degree, it's a case of constant, obsessive practice.
But it isn't where my talents lie.
I've never been good at that many things. I mean really good. I can work hard, be competent and even make myself invaluable at almost anything that I put my mind to. But it's the realm of words, it's the realm of communications, where I exert my influence almost effortlessly.
I suppose if you think about it, alot of people spend their lives trying to be something they are not. And I want to avoid that at all costs. I want to utilize my strengths. I want to use them to my advantage. And above all else, I don't want to bask in denial where I strive painfully to be the best at something that I'm basically mediocre at, until I become so drained of passion that the goal becomes perfection rather than self expression. I've seen it happen to a lot of people, and I would rather it not happen to me.
So for now, I am pushing myself to write, and do it all the time, get back into the habit like I did in high school. Because it's the one thing that absolutely everyone I meet tells me that I'm highly talented in. It's best not to let that stagnate. I guess I should be glad that I have one thing I'm very good at, and that I have known it's a natural talent for years. A lot of people live their whole lives without knowing what it is they're good at, and looking for that one thing in which they can have pride and devote their attentions to.
I guess when I heard about Emily's book, that really got me motivated. At first I felt a bit territorial. She's got all these other great projects and accomplishments, and writing a novel has been the one thing I've wanted to do for years. But then it gave me a real kick in the ass. The only thing that has prevented me from finishing it is my own lazy ass. So what if chaos is all around me? To quote Mickey Rourke in Barfly, "no one who could write worth a damn could write in peace."
I guess what makes me sad isn't that I'm dissatisfied with writing or the prospect of being a great writer. After all, I'm in good company there. What bothers me is that I can love something so thoroughly and completely as painting, and realize that the paintings that are in my head may never make it onto canvas. That I may never reach the level of skill to translate the images in my mind and my dreams into something concrete.
I know I should be thankful that I can do this through other media, that the forums for depicting my inner universe are available to me, even if not by the means that I would like them to be. But there's a sort of melancholy that comes from seeing something that is so fulfilling and yet the thing you love is the source of the obstacle. It's like needing to tell a loved one something vitally important but unable to speak the language. You can utter a few phrases, and get your general point across, but you'll never be able to communicate in their language well enough for them to truly feel what you mean.