Last night in a fit of insecurity/pathos/general malaise, I was lamenting the fact that I am not much of a “blank slate” artist. I always do better (or at least feel better) when I have a directive (art-wise, anyway. Life-wise I tend to do better without any directive, strangely enough). While I was lamenting that fact, I was equally lamenting the fact that some of my favorite work has come when I’ve really embraced the blank slate, i.e. when I have no idea at all and just draw draw draw, channeling something I don’t really know what it is or where it comes from (the problem being, I don’t really know what it is or where it comes from). And then while I was lamenting that fact, I was simultaneously lamenting the fact that a lot of the drawings I like the most (dark, messy, pointy boobs, gnarly hands) are the ones that the viewing public generally likes the least, preferring instead the ones I seem to like the least (cute bunnies).
I have recently been trying my hand at more planned out compositions (see Midnight Swim, Industry, Sudden Rain). I have liked very much they way that they came out. Though I am also nostalgic for the days when I just chunked things out willy-nilly (Snow Bunny, Inorganic, Frog and Butterfly) and got to be surprised and delighted at the outcome.
All of this is to say that I am of two minds. I want art direction, and then I also don’t. I want to sell things at auction, but I don’t want them to always be cute animals. Which I am compelled to draw because I like to please people. (Though, in everyone’s defense, some kind people have also bought the weirder ones, for which I am grateful.)
So here’s the deal. I’ve added a function/widget over there —–> in the right sidebar called “Prompt Robbi” where you can make suggestions of things that I should draw for auction items. I may or may not take the bait. Other folks can vote for which ideas they like best, which might just sway me, since I am a pleaser at heart. If no one comes up with anything compelling, I will just draw dark, messy drawings of pointy boobs and gnarly hands. And nobody will buy them. And the auction will become defunct. And I will have another tragic evening of insecurity/pathos/general malaise.
And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?
