i know there is absolutely no point to posting this, but i am quitting social media. since no one actually responds to my art…
and since it breaks my heart so terribly & painfully to be ignored…
i have no choice but to quit social media.
i will keep making art.
but all by my lonesome.
so two days ago i posted about feeling invisible and thinking about quitting social media because i get no feedback on my art and it all feels utterly pointless.
so that post got 9 “likes” which might not seem like a lot to those of you that get 9 likes a minute, but for me, that is a lot of likes.
but here’s the thing. i still didn’t get any feedback. so i keep wondering if y’all like the idea of my quitting social media & taking my wonky art to the private sector? if that’s what you like. not my art but my quitting art….
and then i start to cry.
seriously, i am starting to be convinced that i am a social experiment in what happens to a neurotic artist who gets minimal feedback.
do i eat a gun muzzle
or start producing amazing art for my pain?
anyhoo. here are a couple more journal-style self-portrait-y things.
i haven’t quit yet….
which is how i feel…invisible.
if i’m on social media for the sake of my art…and i get extremely very little feedback on said art…then why am i on social media when it just seems to contribute to my depression & anxiety?
i am liking doing journal like inkings.
writing & drawing & spilling & splattering.
i’m not sure what i wrote made sense. it was mostly train of thought. randomness. talking to myself.
my approach is kind of that i don’t think anyone is actually paying attention, so i am just seeing what comes out of me. that’s actually pretty much my approach to life. i mean, i feel invisible most the time, so i don’t really worry what anyone thinks of me. you know what they say, there is no such thing as bad publicity.
so on i go.
and my self-portrait is all gunslinger. but no gun.
after i posted it i saw today’s prompt is “fierce.”
i posted this on the inktober group i am in on facebook, i referenced how conflicted i felt about so much color–as if i were channeling the teletubbies…and…nothing.
not one like.
not one comment.
is it me? i put on deodorant…
(actually, not technically deodorant, i use baking soda, coconut oil, and essential oils….)
but you know what i mean.
i would like, at some point before i am dead, to not feel like a complete pariah.
and dusty is coming here to stay for a week. part of me is relieved that there will be another grown up here.
part of me just wants to die because the only relief i get is when the man who helped put me in this fucking situation comes to visit.
mostly, i just feel like crying.
i’m going to go take a shower and cry.
there’s a story behind this. but i don’t know what it is.
that was the 11th. for the 10th i phoned it in once more with a half done inking.
and it is still not finished.
my life is overwhelming.
i am very angry about being alone. about doing this alone. so angry. and depressed. and feeling like this is it. this is the rest of my life. i am essentially alone–but! i am also stuck with dusty in my life. i am stuck with raising four kids mostly by myself while their dad complains that he wants to be more involved and i have to remind myself that it is a trick. their dad is an angler fish dangling “normal family” in front of me and hoping i will take a nibble. because he never actually gets involved even when he can be involved. he doesn’t. and i have to keep reminding myself of that.
which is a lot of fun.
so i’m grumpy and moody and do not feel like doing anything even though i know that doing something would help me to feel better.
just putting pen to paper makes me feel better.