#artist hell

You can only imagine just how torn I was. Going full time with art in a place like this? At a time like this? This economy? AI being prevalent?? Yes, yes, I know ai won't actually replace real art, I strongly stand by that. But I just feared everything. The route felt rocky and unsure, and I needed a path where it was guaranteed or at least likely to be stable.

Don't get it wrong, my family don't put direct pressure on me about my path. They supported the thought of me pursuing art, that it was fine so long as it made me happy. But I just felt it. That underlying tone of worry, of concern.

"What type of career in art do you think would be best?"

"How much would you earn with that career?"

"You do like Science a lot, have you considered becoming a doctor?"

Sometimes, I feel like its a burden to even talk about the idea with them at all. So, I just cut the conversation, tell them, "no, it's alright, I'm sticking with architecture." A small trace of creativity is enough for my love of art to fit in this big damn world anyway.

You know, I always wanted to be an animator, or maybe a storyboard artist, maybe even a comic artist. I was a writer before I was an artist, really. I always held stories in my head so vividly, I write them down so I don't forget them. I compiled small works in a single document file whenever another story builds in my head before I could sleep. I even posted some of my stories in wattpad before. But, more often than not, my words failed me, I needed to see my stories come to life, the limit of words could be extended by an image that came straight out of my head.

So I practiced and practiced, taught myself how things worked, how to break them down to simple shapes, learned anatomy, learned to render, all from all the good artists out there, I joined spaces from when I was too young, really. I kept telling myself, "it's okay, I'll get better at this soon," so I could keep going. So I could bring my stories to life.

But here I am now. Laying on my bed, writing everything I could never get anyone to understand. Torn. Wishing I was just born rich without having a care in the world who could make art without having to worry if it is valuable enough for others so I can earn enough to provide myself a meal everyday when I'm all on my own.

I tell myself that architecture is an art of its own, because, well, it is! Its a world of art I've never touched and have always been intimidating for me. A new ground to explore. But every time I tell myself that, I just get half convinced, still longing that I could make my stories.

I could be a journalist too, maybe. Writing the stories of real people and real events, maybe a script writer, I love writing scripts for plays...

No matter what I try to consider, it all just feels like a luxury that is too risky to take for someone like me.