Listening to: It Will Be A Good Day (The River) - Yes
Watching: 3rd Rock From The Sun
Playing: Pokemon Platinum
WARNING: LONG BUT MEANINGFUL RANT AHEAD.
A few months ago I was sitting in on a lecture for a class. The guy was showing us how to do some neat-o things in Photoshop, with spiffy little doo-dads and whatnot. And then he mentioned that these skills would help us guy artists land a date.
Needless to say, I was appalled. I mean, art is a means of personal expression. It is NOT supposed to be degraded to serving the role of a sex ticket.
Granted, if you have someone you care about who wants you to portray them, then it's OK to make them a heartfelt little something on occasion. That's fine.
But when you're just learning to use this awesome gift that is your talent for showing off to compensate for your own lack of interpersonal skills, then for shame. You sir (This applies to women also, though they tend to do it less. Very sensible.) are no better than a common slut. That's right.
Art is a form of recreational experimentation. It's no different than the Master chef's spatula and pots, the bassist's strings, the scientist's beakers and tubes. It is something you always yearn to master, yet you always learn from it. It teaches you, it opens your mind, you gain from every drawing; be it a masterful Michelangeloean magnum opus or a quick character study scrawled on a napkin at Outback Steakhouse. It is a kind of deep, dark mystical magic, and not to be taken lightly.
And yet you want to use this power for a quick evening of pleasure. For shame, for shame.
I should really give that guy a piece of my mind...
Anyways, sorry about the whining, but it's been a while since my last journal(and may be a while yet!) and that was really bugging me. Have a safe and happy holiday season, everyone!