Brain? Brain brain brain.
Do I have ideas? Has the brain lost the battle? Have I lost all coherency?
Have a think about this; in the "quest" to get a grasp on drawing, do we forget why? Why am I drawing? Why am I desperate to get better? To what end? Millions of dollars? Adoring fans? Sex by the mile? (A mile being a unit of length or distance, a distance of travel, I'm male, figure out the rest yourself... it's naughty)
Seriously. Why art? Why draw? Why broken ass, splintered fingers, spent money, wasted days, leaked fluids, dropped appointments, lost wages, feelings trampled, family ignored, people unconsidered, tasks undone, laundry unattended, trash unemptied?
Why? Why all of this effort and attention? Am I trying to fit a profile? Am I trying to be in a scene? Does the socialization have anything to do with it? If I couldn't post a thing, would I ever draw anything ever again?
Ultimately, I think the answer lies in that direction. Drawing is a communication. It's a form of communication meant to be used by those who have trouble communicating. There must be unspoken thoughts, undreamt demons, unexpressed heart-truths. These things have a way of itching through your skin from the inside, demanding a way out. And when they come out, they're often unrefined and rarely understood by anyone other than the source... than the one with all the trouble communicating.
I can't write well; and when I do, people don't care (as mentioned in my first blog post). They shouldn't have to.
I can't speak too well, and prefer not to. When speaking, I generally speak too much of myself... losing people's interest. I can keep their interest speaking only about them, but then the inner itchings continue unscratched.
Maybe it would be all the better if at the end of life I fade to dust, the clouds roll on for eons, the earth freezes, all sorts of atmospheric effects buffet and thoroughly bury any speck of remembrance of my essence. Maybe.
These things that want out of me aren't self concerned; they're loving, they want to embrace other people. Otherwise I might agree that I could just disappear and save the world my labored efforts at communication.
Drawing has always seemed like the best way to get to where I might have a chance at redeeming myself, and giving back to humanity. Something inside me urges me that way. My own shortcomings and brain brain brain are at odds with this, very often.
I have to find the path away from the malaise, and toward this eventual ability to give voice to the itchies.... because they're meant for the world--they love the world--they're not meant for my insides.