"It's incredibly difficult, when you're an artist of any kind (words, music, film and tv, canvas or sculpture, digital media, etc.), to always feel you're going it alone. The climb is rough enough, just trying to get recognition and support - whether that support is financial, or via someone spreading the word simply because they believe in you - and while most artistic people by nature tend to lead a solitary life when creating, it always - no, ALWAYS - helps to feel there are some people in your camp. Those who believe in you; most importantly, during those times you've stopped believing in yourself.
"I grew up absolutely convinced my father hated me. I came out of the womb, I think, shy and quiet and creative, and as he had waited so long to have the kind of son he wanted (hunting, fishing, working on cars), none of my earliest memories were of us spending any real time together, much less his ever telling me I was good. He never taught me how to shave, nor to change a tire, and we never had 'the talk' about where babies come from; on the contrary, he was gone a lot due to work, and from childhood it seemed he always resented - seemed jealous - of the closeness I had with my mother. Perhaps one of the reasons he often treated her like shit, though with me it was more about avoidance and sarcastic insults and hearing him call me a 'faggot' to my baby sister when I was six years old. As I grew older, and showed I could write and draw and even tried acting via a cheesy community theater group, he would always seem to glow whenever anyone praised my talents, nodding and agreeing with the people who told him how lucky he was to have such a creative son. Me, I never heard any of it, and in private those nods of praise turned mostly to head-hanging shame.
"My mother, whose love from jump was unconditional, was the opposite. She meant her best, but I could have drawn or written the biggest piece of crap on the planet and she would have acted as if I'd found Atlantis. It was very comforting, like heaven compared to my father's judgment, but as I grew older the applause sounded more and more hollow; it wasn't about having any kind of talent or gift, it was about being her son. Though to this day I appreciate it all, for I might have stifled any creativity I had down inside me otherwise, had not at least one person whose opinion I wanted or valued encouraged me.
"When I started publishing, even writing the stuff I didn't feel good about writing just for the money, I never turned my back on any other creative person who sought encouragement, or needed any help I could provide. You do that when you're up-and-coming, but I also swore to myself that I would never forget to do it even after I'd 'made it,' because I would never forget that fledgling writer who pounded on doors and made call after call or spent hours on social media, just trying to be heard. It was all I ever wanted: to be heard. To be read. I wasn't a salesman, wasn't going to beat someone over the head with my work and force it down their throats. I wanted the work to speak for itself. I wanted someone - whether it was a friend or family member whose opinion I respected ... a writer whose own voice I had loved so much, his or her feedback would be more valuable than anything I ever owned ... or even a total stranger I only knew to be an avid reader, who could (and would) pull apart my sentence structure or let me know when a particular phrase sang, as need be - to just take a moment and read my words.
"Instead, the friends (and especially family members) either show no faith, or give you their time out of pity instead of really seeing you as an artist with something to say, instead of their loopy friend or relative ... the writers you admire, who are no longer struggling, either sit behind a wall of assistants and gatekeepers, or are too busy with their own work (or the hawking of their work) to be able to sort through the novices - no matter how recently they themselves may have been one - to find the talent from the posers ... and the total strangers, no matter how much you advertise and market and stand there like a carnival barker, pimping out your work, simply don't have the time or inclination to care, what with texting and tweeting and posting funny memes or pictures of their pets/children/dinner/significant other to Facebook and seeing who 'likes' it.
"But for those of you who have someone close to you who is an artist; for artists who've gotten a few steps up the ladder and want only to never look back; for those who never want to try anyone or anything new that's not already been branded to you by a music company, network, movie studio, gallery, or publisher; and especially for those who still treat that artistic family member like the kid whose childhood drawings you cooed over, before proudly displaying them on the fridge with magnets until the newest pizza menu covered them up ...
"Remember that all we ever want is recognition. To let the work speak for itself.
"I know that's all I ever wanted."
I've read the Candyland excerpt and something else you wrote a bit back Don, and I certainly think you have a way with words.
ReplyDeleteIt's sad how your father was, as children we want to make our parents happy and proud and when that doesn't happen, of course we blame ourselves. It sounds like he couldn't accept you for the boy you were, and later the man, because you weren't like him.
Be proud of yourself Don, in my opinion, if it counts for much, you have talent.
Mary