The artist gazed pensively at his work, while a shadow of self doubt clouded the usual rush of childlike satisfaction he felt from finishing a picture. "Maybe," he thought, carefully appraising the awkward lines and jarring clash of randomly chosen inks, "the ballpoint pens are the problem. Perhaps if I used watercolor, people would recognize my genius..." Reassured, he continued his favorite artistic daydream, where he moved to New York and made friends with woody Allen. And the supernatural turtle continued its ominous approach to the helpless Lego village, under the blessing of the heartless Rainbow Bird, god of painkillers and obsessive bedtime rituals.
Yes, I chose a fairly long title for this piece,
which I have not finished and may never finish because I'm a little discouraged because I looked on the internet and saw art by someone much much better than me. I would counsel anyone dreaming of life as a famous artist to avoid looking at online art, because unless you are one of the hateful toads who produced the art that I just looked at on line, you will either have to give up your dreams at once or you will have to summon all the vast powers of cognitive dissonance that have fueled your dreams in the first place and pretend the art you just looked at wasn't better than anything you've ever had the remotest chance of producing. Which is possible, totally possible to do because most artists and people in general are much better at disassociating than they are at art.
So this unfinished piece with the long title, which I will not be repeating within this post, will remain unfinished so that I can pretend that if I did finish it it would be every bit as good as some other people's fancy stuff, a pretentious artist technique invented by the ancient Greeks and perfected by Leonardo da Vinci. With his inventions, not his art. His art that he finished was totally awesome! But his helicopter would never work, please give up on that.
So I've decided for like the fiftieth time to give up on my dreams of being a famous artist and to work on becoming a famous writer instead. I've already written a few books worth of funny text messages and monologues about knife safety not to mention all these pointless blog posts, so I'm thinking I'll just stitch them all together and add a meandering plot about a loser who becomes famous for his ball point pen drawings and invents a new martial arts style based on juggling and founds an academy that produces warriors and secret operatives and eventually becomes such an incredible and masterful artist that his drawings of the planar pentoidals come to life and conquer every flat surface on earth. It would begin with the loser sitting in the bathroom writing about his failure as an artist who suddenly gets an incredible idea for a book that he turns into an incredible picture instead because writing is hard and he becomes a famous artist after all and doesn't have to go to work anymore and spends his time at home in his undies and his cozy bathrobe playing triple town and avoiding his email and slowly and patiently acquiring heart disease which he will thwart with magic and jugglitsu judo in single combat in the snowfields Mano a Mano. Good god, I've found a better title!
