there was a time in my life when i was fairly prolific. i drew all the time. mostly in class, which in retrospect makes a lot of sense, as i seem to do things best when i'm doing them in lieu of other things, like geometry and science.
i can't quite pinpoint when my multi-year-and-still-going dry spell of creativity began, or the reasons behind it. perhaps it was the nagging notion that just because my mother thinks my drawings are good and that i look great in this sweater vest, doesn't necessarily mean everyone else will feel the same way. and maybe that was coupled with a pre-built lack of self-esteem and desire FOR the acceptance and/or friendship from the very peer group i hated. and maybe that was mixed up with the already growing habit of swallowing myself inward to make myself as bland and "normal" as possible, so perhaps i could just be left the fuck alone for once.
it's really hard to say, exactly.
regardless of its origins, the spell has continued, and i have no idea how to really make it go away. the solution most likely has its roots in self-acceptance and forgiveness of myself and others, and a lot of crying and talking and quite possibly running away from everyone and everything and learning to be an autonomous unit.
all of the aforementioned messy bullshit makes the times when i do put pencil to paper and have it come out good all the more relieving. it's like, maybe i am good, and maybe things aren't as shitty as i'm making them out to be. which is usually how it works out. i'll learn that completely, one of these days, i'm sure. in the meantime, i'll continue about my merry way, getting over my fear of myself in millimeters of graphite and single drops of india ink. and cat hair. lots of cat hair. so... so much cat hair. dammit, finn.