1/9/08

It's hard to escape the office around you, and focus on the task at hand. The task at hand currently being writing a blog entry. Granted, I should not be writing a blog entry while at the office, but in some fashion, this is work. It is an exploration of expression, and while my job most usually follows visual exploration, I play the copywriter here and there.

I am frustrated. This simple fact has helped me ruin my own day. Though I am a firm believer in keeping a good attitude, positive thoughts positive things so to speak, I can't help but grouse right now.

Why am I frustrated? Several reasons.

Job Stress
Life Stress
Social Stress
Personal Stress

The Job Stress is nothing compared to Life Stress, which basically puts me in this continual loop of paranoia and guilt. The reason today is this. Mother and Sister are attending a show in NYC tonight. I'm not joining them, much to my happiness, as I can't stand wasting my days and nights with something. To get me out of my own room is a task in itself, and the longer I am out of my room, the more I yearn to get back. Anyway, my mother has decided that they will NOT take the train at the late hour the show gets out, and as a result, they will have to be picked up, by my father, who has to drive 2 hours into the city, and 2 hours back home.

Needless to say my mother wishes me to accompany my father on the long drive tonight, should something happen. The striking guilt of denying such a waste of my time comes in when my father too has requested I go.

Am I so selfish? Am I that bound by my passions to not spend 4 and a half hours in a car tonight, when I could be researching my own art style, painting even, relaxing, sleeping, enjoying a drink and a good movie? The truth is, yes, I am a slave to my own hobbies.

Why the unsocial hobbit-like existance? Mostly because of past relationships. I was an unsocial creature in High School and College. After commencement, I found my first of 4 loves, and after the most recent 4th, two years later, I find myself closing off from the world. Retreating into my small hovel of a room, in the house of my parents, the same room I've had since we moved to New Jersey when I was a child of four. Social Stress.

Nightly, I embrace the warm walls of my room, that sanctuary of a slice of heaven, a place for creativity, entertainment, and luxury, my own private Margaritaville, devoid of the corruptions of a tempting lover, the noisy annoyances of my own friendly banter. Oh sure, I get the urge to go out every now and again... eventually. But the fact remains, I enjoy my solitude. I'm a less grumpy Shrek, enjoying the privacy of his swamp, though seemingly, I continually have annoying donkeys yelling and pounding on the door. My loving family.

To move out would be a timeless gift, I feel. Able to live completely free. I'll worry about health-risks, and hospice when I'm older. Alas, I can't afford it, not with my paycheck. I'd take freelance, but as I avoid my friends sometimes, so too, I avoid clients. If there were something more annoying than friends, it's friends who are paying you to do something.

Is it everyman's dream to completely be devoid of responsibility? I know it's my dream. Able to live spontaneously for my entire existence. I've done the job thing, it has its perks, but I feel living with my family, and having a job where the diversity of projects is as rare as snow in Vegas has sapped me of my motivation. Motivation is built on the notion that you are striving for something, an end goal.

What happens when your goal is just not that enticing? When your motivation is superceded by apathy? When you find yourself completely complacent in life, and your directional compass just spins out of control?

Such is my life.

I write today to try and understand where I'm headed. So far I've not figured anything out in these long-winded beginning paragraphs much more than the fact that I have issues. So let's just move on.

Personal Stress. What happens when I get to the room? First, I drop the messenger bag. In the bag, a sketchbook 90% empty, the iPod, an "Art Journal" a recent investment of mine, which seems to be working out nicely. In which, I write my art thoughts, and list art ideas in a list on the back. I get my nap in usually before dinner. But once dinner is done, I seem to be done for the night. I found that it is good to exercise to promote, not only good health, but a hightened energy when coming up with art. As an Illustrator, it is imperative to have an open mind to new and different concepts... which I can't seem to come up with most of the time.

No, I end up crashing in front of the computer till about 12:00 am when I get up, feel angry at myself for not having done anything. But it is at Midnight that I also come up with the desire to research, and hopefully come up with a good idea. It's strange how this happens everynight after I should have gone to bed. It's as if my body WANTS to work after the hour I should shut it down. So many times at around 12-1 have I just wanted to get up and go for a jog, which I obviously don't, as it's too late, the prowlers and abductees, sickos, and cops are out to kill, rob, maim, stare, beat up... Yea I'll have none of that. Hrm, in hindsight, when I have that energy, instead of retiring to a book or bed and just zone out in front of the TV or computer, I should do the Tae Bo I always speak of.

But needless to say, it's frustrating when I save all that time at night to work, and nothing actually happens. But we know why. Art is not made without actually making art. And in order to make art, you have to swallow your perfectionism, and just hope for the best.

---

It was lunch hour, and I took a small break. I sat in the car on this gorgeous 65 degree winter day, turned on the iPod, cracked open a Monster I bought in the Cafe earlier (cause they didn't have the Lo Cal one I like) and just zoned out for a little while.

I feel a lot better... kind of.

I'm still angry that I have to go on the damn car trip tonight, as I really hate wasting a night. I haven't had one night this week to myself yet, and I feel completely angry. Tomorrow night's booked. I'm doing a bowling thing with coworkers. Ugh, I hate this. I never get the load of free time to really delve into digital painting that I want to.

I guess being an Artist is synonymous with frustration, at least someone concerned with originality. There's a fun word. A fun issue. Originality. Art comes so naturally to those who are hardly original. But for me, at least, I can't seem to do work that's not completely new or different, as I tend to get bored with drawing or painting something that already has been done... which is everything. A conundrum, to be sure.

But there is hope. Monday night, I was reading Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland, and basically it said very logically, you can never get bored with you. Like, painting entirely what I hold interesting will... duh... interest me, and will keep me interested. When I think about it, the way I did so many things in the past was because something or other kept my interest. And there were a lot of things that did so, in HS and in College. Now... it seems my interests are limited, but I shouldn't waste my time trying to paint dwarves or robots if they just... don't do it for me.

Nay, I need something completely Jim, something oddball, yet realistic. Something... provocative.

Wow, this entry is a large one. But I feel like half of my adult life story is in here. It was good to let it all out, I feel. Good to rant and rave.

...even though I'm at work.