“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:
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.
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.
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.