How I Explain my Art to Others

It’s hard for me to talk about my art. I’ve been raised to never brag, so selling myself is tricky. This extends to just talking about my art. I feel it should speak for itself.

I know I draw fantasy and scenes, but that doesn’t always get into people’s heads. They hear “art” and think I just draw, or “graphic designer” and think I work on 3d modeling. I’ve resorted to “fantasy art” because it encompasses everything I do, but doesn’t tell the whole story.

I end up telling them a long-winded explanation. It’s rather tedious to explain that I draw art for my own stories. I can see the look in their eye that says “she’s not doing something REAL”.

Still, drawing for my own stories is was makes me truly happy. My work can be adapted to fit anything. People who love books and movies can see it, I think.


"Cringe" Art?

So I never really understand what people mean by cringe culture. I had to look it up. I found that it is mainly people attacking others in fandoms for creating horrible and mostly inaccurate stereotypes of people in the fandom.

What makes art bad anyhow? According to textbooks—nothing! You learn in art school that art is the eye of the beholder and every movement has rules that people break.

Even professionals call attention to bad topics by making art about them. Because I went to a contemporary art school, we were encouraged to explore political and social topics. One guy in our books peed in a jar and called it art!

Every person goes through stages in life where they explore. Telling someone they aren’t allowed to explore something so innocuous as art, is really immature. It also stunts a person’s growth if they skip a developmental phase. And as art is an expression of that phase, they should be able to do it.



In Tags ,

My Favorite Pet

My favorite pet recently passed away. His name was Jiggs. He was a black and white percheron pony cross. He was stocky and strong, but graceful when he moved.

I had always wanted a pony, and I never grew out of the phase. Whenever I was playing as a kid I was either a dog or a horse. I took lessons starting at ten years old and never stopped. That’s when I met Jiggs.

He knew I was his before I did. We clicked early, and I knew it, but Jiggs was the one who claimed me first, instead of the other way around. He’d come to the gate whenever he saw my car, and would be mad if I rode anyone else. Mom bought him for me from the barn owner when I was 21.

Our favorite thing to do was anything. Seriously, Jiggs was up for anything, especially jumping and running around. He was great at games for pony camp, but he was also a boss at dressage.

The fact that I love him still makes his death easier to talk about. Even though he colicked and we had to put him down, the day it happened everything was pleasant. The vet had come and sedated him, so he wasn’t in pain, and it was warm but not hot. I got to be with him the whole time, and he gave the only truly scared look I’ve ever seen in the last moments. I’ll miss that pony, but love doesn’t expire.