Life Isn’t Still

Life Isn’t Still

“Fear doesn’t go away. The warrior and the artist live by the same code of necessity, which dictates that the battle must be fought anew every day.” 

— Steven Pressfield

To summarize the path that has brought me here:

  • 2015 UNC-Chapel Hill: Premed –> Journalism School –> Fine Arts
  • 2017: Dropped out –> Became a stripper –> Drove to Mount Shasta, CA to become certified as a Wilderness EMT
  • Summer of 2018 NYAA –> Fine Arts
  • 2018 NC State –> Art&Design study
  • 2019 NC State –> Double Major in Art&Design and Plant Biology

In 2016, I was enrolled in two art classes: painting and digital photography. After spending about 10 hours constructing a still life in oil paint, I went out that evening to take some shots for my photography course. This was my first glimpse into the tremendous advantages of technology.

I had spent about 2 hours in the woods with my camera, frolicking around and pushing some buttons. Afterwards, I sat down to examine the results. They were fantastic and I was paralyzed. Recollecting the immensity of time spent earlier in my art studio meticulously placing each stroke of paint. Back aching and vision turning stale, I had pressed through those hours in pain only to produce a muddled painting. Its imperfections mocked my twitching eyes as I compared, back-and forth, to the next image on my phone.

Left: The last still life I would ever do. Right: An actual photo of the still life.

My painting definitely captured the lack of inspiration I felt towards those fake apples and cheap Tupperware. The fluid of these thoughts erupted throughout my body and condensed on my skin. Shit…. what am I doing?

I returned to browsing the photographs I had snapped that night. Snapped. This device, this camera, this technology had enabled me to capture deeply provocative compositions in a matter of seconds. Images that would take years to replicate on canvas.

My first exposure to the tools of technology from a digital photography shoot in the woods.

With a squealing fart, I watched as my artistic alliance began to deflate into a saggy heap of what used to be a grandiose sense of self-worth. I prodded the fully empty sack of plastic with my toe and stared at it for approximately one year.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: