So, It has been a long, LONG time since I visited DeviantART. So much so that I have had to sort through 2,113 Deviations and near 900 messages ((and I finally got through them all x_x... so many amazing pieces of art)). I haven't been on DA in damn near 2 years.

Long story short, I gave up. I gave up on my art. I took all my pencils, pens, charcoal, pads, paper, binders, erasers, reference books... everything and anything... boxed it up, sealed it, and hid it all away from the light of day and myself down in the dungeon known as the basement. I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't stomach it. Took all my links on my various computers to lord knows how many galleries here on DA and elsewhere and I deleted them. I cracked.

Back in November of 2005 I graduated from Savannah College of Art & Design (SCAD) with a BFA in Graphic Design. The final project for my Studio II course was to create a book. I chose to base the book on my interest in online Roleplay in a chatroom environment. Any and all illustrations in the book were of my own creation. So, on the very last day of class we critiqued the books that everyone made. As the critique wrapped up my favorite professor walked in to see what was going on. Taking a few moments he looked through my book, paused, looked at me and asked "Did you do these drawings?", to which I of course answered yes. He looked at them again, paused, then just shook his head and said "You are in the wrong major, you should have been in Sequential Art."

Those words became the final nail in the coffin for me. To this day they echo in my head as if I had just heard them yesterday. add to that years of a total lack of support from my parents with their constant advice on what should and shouldn't be, hounded like mad growing up in school... it just wore on me to much. Combined that with having to give up on Sequential Art as being my major all because of stupid financial reasons... *sigh*. And please, don't say "Gotta ignore that stuff," and "Do what you love," etc., I've heard it all.

In the end the I blame myself. I internalized everything that I heard and I let it eat me alive. It joined with my already low self esteem and just took me apart. It got to the point where just looking at my old work made me want to cry because I started to hate it. The pencil became to hard to lift, and when I managed to get it to the paper I just couldn't think of anything to draw. I can only describe it as an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and loss. It all seemed futile.

So, I stopped. I devoted my time and resources into gaming and web design and various other hobbies that kept me away from the art desk. Hell, for a time my drafting table was just buried under 3 computers and eventually it too was removed from my room. Life went on, fairly monotonous for a while. the only real salvation I had when it came to keeping my creativity alive was the chatroom RP I did, the need to create characters for it. But even then overtime that too lost it's luster and I started to slip in that as well.

Last year, in January 2008, I was laid off from work, my job lost due to a position elimination. For the next 8 months I was home. I'll tell you now, you don't want to be unemployed. Ever. It's horrid. For those 8 months I sat and stewed. I dwelled on thoughts I should not dwell on and did little more than hate myself. Day in and day out I watched the world pass by and all I could think of was my failures, how worthless I truly was to the world. I never went out, never really hung out with friends. Sure, at times their were reasons we didn't meet; my closest friend at the time lived 45 minutes away and having varied schedules it made it hard for us to get together. In the end though I just gave up. I stopped caring to such a point that I had convinced myself that no one gave a shit. That no one would ever need me and that I was useless. When people did want me, it was for nothing more than a brief moment of help, and once done I was discarded and forgotten just as quickly. I. Was. Worthless.

Time, again, came and went and before I knew I had acquired a new job. A month after that, I received a second. Things were finally getting back on track, but still no art to speak of. No passion, no muse with which to inspire me. Time moves on still and I find myself now in July of this year. Understand that up to this point in my life I stopped caring. I felt little for anything and cared even less for myself. Over the past couple of years I had convinced myself that I was totally worthless and had no value to offer this world. I had been jobless, single (another journal entry... I hate being single) for 5 years, still trapped at home with my parents under their rule, and void of my muse. For me things seemed very bleak. Sure, I had a bunch of friends who tried and lift me up, but I'm a stubborn shit and I tend not to listen to what people tell me. I am and always will be a student from the School of Hard Knocks. But I digress. In June or July of this year, or there abouts at least, I met a friend of a friend on Facebook. She had a rather wonderful tattoo on her back and I couldn't help but comment. So, I sent her a private message.

From there we started talking, messaging back and forth, talking about this and that. Eventually I happen to catch her on the FB chat and one morning we spent 6 hours talking... didn't even realize it. It seemed that I had made a new friend. We would continue on talking back and forth, learning a bit about each other, and eventually getting together/ meeting each other in person at a local bar with a few of her friends. We had fun. It had been a long time since I had gone out and done anything with anyone anyways... spending all my time indoors with my computers and games, not really being much of a person.

Through our conversations I learned that my new friend had a small online clothing store called Rag-doll Apparel. For some reason something that day clicked. Reading that name and rolling it over in my head spoke to me. It almost seemed to beg at me... "dram me." So, I did. One day at work as I was sketching at my desk, this little bugger was born: [link] As I sat back and looked at the finished drawing I paused and blinked a few times. The sudden realization that I had a done a drawing for the first time in years hit me like a freight train. I had been inspired. I had finally done what I thought I could never do again... and I was happy. For the first time in 3 years I was happy with myself.

Since that day several weeks ago I have done a few drawings. Nothing overly note worthy, mostly sketches and loose drawings, but it's a start. I have put the drafting table back in my room and dug out a few of my art supplies. As I type this now and look over at the white drafting table next to me I can't help but smile as a familiar feeling from my youth fills me up and makes me smile. I find my mind wandering to the next illustration I want to do, the next image I want to try to bring to life. I find myself now wanting to take the time to learn new techniques and to branch out into other area's of my art, moving beyond the black and white I favor so much.

... and i owe it all to a my new friend. In the course of only a few weeks she turned my world upside down. She got me out of the house and meeting new people. She made me realize that there was more to my life then just being a tool for other people to use. I WAS worth something. I was more than object that was easily discarded. I was a person, I was a friend. She made me realize that I could still draw, and that my art wasn't something I should just give up on.

I owe it all to you, my red headed sociopath. My muse. Thank you so very, very much. Words alone can not convey the emotions our simple friendship has made me feel. As I write this now I find my gut tightening and my eyes wanting to tear. Thank you for giving me a chance. Thank you for seeing me, for seeing the person I had let go and slip into darkness so long ago.

... not much more to add to that I suppose.

I'm back DA. Lets see where the road... and life... takes me now.