Vincent, I know how you felt...

Vincent Van Gogh self portrait, painted shortly after his
infamous self-inflicted ear amputation

Being an artist can really suck. I mean REALLY suck sometimes. No, actually MOST of the time. I mean, I didn't ask to be born with this "talent" that has caused so many before me to live (and die) feeling tortured and frustrated...

But exactly why is the artist such a traditionally tortured creature? Well have a seat, and let me break it down for you. Imagine yourself as a child, about 3 or 4 years old, just playing like any other kid, then maybe grabbing some crayons and doodling something up. Suddenly, an adult snatches the paper from your grubby little hands and declares, "This child is really talented!" And there it was for the first time, that word I now sometimes despise - talent. What does it even mean? Webster's Dictionary describes it as "the natural endowments of a person" or "a special often athletic, creative, or artistic aptitude." Okay, whatever.  All I know is, it felt good to be called talented.  As one of four children in a single-parent home, my newfound "talent" gave me some desperately-craved attention.  Throughout grade school, I used every opportunity to show off my artistic abilities as a means for attention and approval.  You better believe my mother fucking mission was the best!  And paper mache'? Forget about it. No one even came close.  But then I got older, and there were no more gold stars, A+'s, or blue ribbons to fill me up. Now it was time to be a grown-up, and to seek approval as an artist in the real world- and boy was I in for a shock.

Ah, and there is that other nasty word - approval.  A HUGE part of the artist's tortured existence is that we often seek outside approval to validate ourselves and our work- which isn't really our fault- it's how our system works. Even if an artist was never a needy little rugrat like me, the approval we are forced  to seek as an adult artist comes in the form of money (you know, how you pay rent and eat and stuff).  There is nothing more difficult for an artist than to pour your heart & soul into your work, resulting in pieces that you love and are very satisfied with...and then no one buys them. Or even likes them.  Or even sees them.  And the illustration agencies don't call you back.  And neither do the galleries. And the only

type of work offers you can seem to get are to do a portrait of Aunt Edna and her cat for 20 bucks and lunch at Applebee's (and you take it). And everyone you meet keeps telling you, "You know, you should really do something with your talent." And then your work just ends up in a closet or corner of your house somewhere, collecting dust, and reminding you of how much you suck and you should just give up this stupid art shit already and get a real career going, and then you paint all your paintings black or throw them away or something, and all of the sudden you find yourself understanding why Van Gogh cut his fucking ear off! (Or maybe I just need medication?)

As an artist in this world, it is easy to feel completely unappreciated, dejected and useless- like an old dinosaur roaming around in the suburbs, just getting in the way of the busy, money-making people and eating everyone's plants.  Okay, maybe that analogy didn't make perfect sense, but you get my drift.  I wish that I could end this little rant on a more positive note, but alas- this is one of the 362 days this year that it sucks to be an artist.

ADDITIONAL NOTES & LINKS:
Think I'm crazy?  Just check out this list of artists throughout history who have commited suicide and at least you'll see I'm not alone in my frustration.

-Vincent Van Gogh's suicide note
-Life in Hell comic about struggling artists (hilarious!)

Van Gogh's final painting before shooting himself in the head. Many believe this painting hinted of his planned
suicide, with the crows reacting to the sudden sound of the gunshot (this field was the view from his window).