inktober 16 & 17

inktober16

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?
stay tuned!

anyhoo. here are a couple more journal-style self-portrait-y things.

i haven’t quit yet….

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inktober 15…invisible

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?

inktober 14th

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’m fierce.
every day.

 

inktober 12

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.

sigh.

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.

inktober 10th & 11th…ish

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.

inktober10

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.

fuck.

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.

a lack of enthusiasm for inktober

so october 7th i drove the minions through the flatlands of illinois to collect this new member of our homestead:

we left in the morning and did not get home until almost five when poultry has to be fed and sheep watered all while trying to get the new baby to eat (he was pretty pissed off about being taken away from his family–no wonder–and it was a day before we could get him to accept the bottle.) plus i had to relocate the bunnies to a puppy pen so i could use their dog crate for quixote’s “stall” in our sunroom.  as well as feeding the minions, collecting eggs, putting poultry away….
so it was after seven before i got a chance to catch my breath.

and i just did not feel like doing inktober. so i phoned it in and used an inking in progress as my seventh day:

inktober7

which i then finished for the 8th of inktober.

which brings us to yesterday, the ninth. i wasn’t sure what to do. i decided to just do some journal inkings.

my first one came out like this:

inktober9

and i was all like, “what the fuck, em?” i thought about posting it…but felt really conflicted about it, for some reason.
art for me is a meditation and an exorcism.
what is going on here then?

so i tried again:

inktober9(2)

and ended up not posting this one either. i was convinced people would hate them and be, like me, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

i want to keep doing inktober–because it is fun for me and keeps me creating….
but i’m not sure i want to share anymore.
it feels like i am putting myself out there…to no avail.

i’m just weird.
misunderstood.
a misfit toy.

…a strange lady.

day six of inktober

i’m in a piss-ass mood…
still.

ironically…”don’t worry, be happy” is playing on my radio.
but we all know how that ended….

fuck.

i texted dusty today to let him know i think is a terrible idea for us to live together again in any context.
so then he called…and i said i was busy…and he said “please, please, please” and i said, “no.” but he kept insisting i talk to him.
so i got on the goddamned phone and told him he needs to start taking responsibility for his shit. that i am tired of rescuing him. that he needs to stop taking the easy route and start actually working for a future instead of fantasizing about one.

fuck!

i’m just so fucking desperate that sometimes dusty seems like a good idea.

so fucking desperate….

fuck.

and still my inktobers are getting lukewarm receptions.
so i’m just doing whatever the fuck because no one seems to notice either way.
which
is actually
the story of my life
if you think about it
so maybe
i dunno
maybe
i will be doing some dark & depressing memoir bullshit comics….

bleah.

 

inktober fifth

okay.
i’m tired of what i have been doing with ink brush painting.
yesterday i used some leftover ink to make random panels on a sheet of paper.
today i pulled a comic out of my ass…
about panels.

inktober5

and then i ended up spilling a bunch of black ink
so in the spirit of sustainability and not wasting and taking lemons & making lemonade,
i did a quick sketch using the spilled ink…which is the inking showcased at the top of today’s blog.
full moon long shadows.

i like it.
i like my art.
i like being me.

so there, world of no recognition…or very little recognition. i like my stuff. i know i am good. i don’t need your fucking “likes” (but, you know, they are nice)

on a personal note
because it has been too long without me over-sharing…
i had half-invited dusty to live here–as a paying lodger…but now i am re-thinking that. i mean, it sounds like a recipe for disaster.
he just won’t grow up.
and it’s not like i am so good at being a grown up…but i manage.
meanwhile, he pays a minimal child support…occasionally.
he has a crap job because he won’t bother looking for another one.
he lives with his crap-ass mom because he won’t bother finding his own place–nor does he have the money to do so.
and he has a crappy car that does not run because he just stored it in a garage for seven years while he made me give him rides.
and now he is dependent on him mom for rides.
and i keep thinking…why?
why won’t he just get up off his ass and do something?

well, i guess he’s just waiting for me to pick him up again.

so what happens if i don’t?

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