I suppose I don't have the right to say I'm disappointed in you.

After all, I failed by not being there enough. I guess that's the worst part of this, for me.

But don't come up bullshit excuses for an apology. If you gave up, then that's because you chose to give up.

You chose this. Now take down that title. You don't deserve it.

A Letter to a Struggling Artist

This is a message to any artist who has ever felt an overwhelming sense of doubt, a feeling of being trapped and unheard in a voice of thousands of others, who have felt like they wanted to give up. It is a letter to anyone who has thought that maybe everyone else was right about them- that you’re wasting your time on art. This is to try to prove to you that you cannot let them win. Especially not now, at what may be your lowest point.

First. One of the main problems many artists seem to encounter is the question of whether or not they can even be considered an artist. You might be wondering if you’re even worth being called one. Here’s your answer – you are an artist. As long as you are doing something that you think is art, as long as you are doing it because you want to, as long as you are doing it because you cannot imagine yourself being more free than doing anything else – then you are an artist. You have been since the first moment you decided up a paintbrush, a quill, a camera – and said that it would be the extension of yourself because it felt right. As long as you are creating something that hasn’t previously been there, as long as you are creating something that only you can, as long as you are making and continuing to make art – then you will always be an artist.

Second. People will try to make you believe that what you are doing is not important. They will tell you that it is inconsequential, and that other jobs will contribute more to society. Do not listen to them. These are the people who have not found that a book can bring you to thousands of worlds, that you can save humanity in a video game, that fictional characters can show us to be our own heroes, that music can be an anthem in our daily battles – these are people who have not learned that art can save lives. What you can do is a miracle that alchemists have been trying to achieve for centuries. You can create images out of simple chemicals meant to imitate colors. You have  made emotion out of a combination of different sounds. You have the capacity to craft a human being from a combination of only a set number of letters, out of ink, out of paper – art is our living proof that magic is out there. It is ours to breathe in and craft with – all you have to do is believe. It is a sorcery that transcends distances and barriers, and you can see the world through someone else’s eyes, almost as if you have experienced their life first-hand. Art is our source of real, human empathy. It is the greatest evidence that we are not alone. Do not let anyone tell you that what you do is not important.

Third. Often, you will question if you are any good at what you do. You may join classes which give you an “F” for the painting you spent hours on. You may be rejected time and time again by various publishers. You may watch other artists you know gain success and wonder if you really are wasting your time – if you can even contribute anything to the world of art. That is fantastic. Every moment you overcome this fear and decide to continue making art, you are proving to everyone that you deserve to be an artist. Art takes courage. Courage entails telling your fear that it is not as important as it will make you feel it is.

The reason art requires courage is because you will be trying to do something no one has ever done before. This means that you are challenge what has previously been accepted as possible, as acceptable, as the truth. This is why censorship is used to stifle revolutions and why art can offend so many people. Not possessing courage means you are not strong enough to be yourself and to continue being yourself. This is one of the most important things you need as an artist. In a world that keeps saying that we are limited, you need the drive to believe that limits are only as big as you allow them to be. There is a reason the universe is continuously expanding.

People used to think flight was impossible. It may not have happened exactly how we predicted it would, but that’s one of the great things about human achievement – it rarely turns out the way many might have imagined it would, because someone has dared to imagine it differently.

So be brave. Believe your art is worth it. Believe you are worth your art. It will not be easy – no one ever told you it would be. You always have the option to stop- to simply accept the world others want you to live in. But it would be a shame for you to not take the opportunity to change the world by simply creating new ones. It is the reason dictators do not like art that criticizes them. It’s the reason science is driven by science fiction of occasion. The world needs your art, whatever it may be. The world needs your eyes. You can never predict how your art will be experienced by someone – you can change a life. You can save one.

Children need to grow up in a world where there are still sources of magic out there. Wonder has become a scarce resource. Every piece of art you contribute adds more wonder to the world.

You have chosen a difficult road, but it is free and chaotic and unpredictable. It has no rules and therefore no guides.

The road you have chosen is a blank canvas, a new sheet of paper, a silence that can become a song – the journey itself is art. Every path is completely different for every artist. And no one else can replicate yours.

Create your path and do not quit on it. Because more than just the world, your art needs you.

Home

I hate always having to go back to a house where I really do feel like I don’t fucking belong. I mean, I’m tired of feeling like my worth here will only ever be determined by figures. That I’m worth as much as I can give, I’m worth my grades, I’m worth the salary I’ll earn in the future. I’m tired of having to feel that I’m not valued for who I goddamn am.

I’m tired of being told my passion is useless and that it’s only a hobby. Because it’s honestly saved my life countless times if only because I have something to continue living for. I’m tired of constantly having to understand that I can never explain that to people who would only see that as ridiculous. It’sbecome extremely tiring just trying to get you to see that there are other things in life that I think matter. That all the grades and the money you want isn’t what’s going to make me happy.

I mean, it’s like I don’t even have a right to be who I am. It’s like you don’t value my individuality. You don’t even want me to become independent because you think I won’t be able to handle it, and I’m really tired. I want to make my own mistakes; I want to learn things that I wouldn’t have otherwise because I got to experience them. I want to learn things so that I can grow as a person and be somebody. That’s really it, I guess. I’m tired because you don’t want to teach me anything. You get mad when I make mistakes and don’t bother explaining things to me properly. You’ll only ever repeat things over and over, and honestly, sometimes I just get so sick of everything. I'm tired of you assuming I'm stupid and I don't know anything just because I'm the youngest, or just because I'm younger than you, or just because I dunno, I still look like a fucking kid? I'm tired of you being so condescending as if you understand me perfectly. As if you understand everything so perfectly.

It’s like I can’t even be fucking upset, because if I seem upset you won’t even ask why. You’ll just get mad that I am because I’m supposed to be happy.

That’s what pisses me off the most sometimes. Like I’m SUPPOSED to be happy, and have no other emotion. I’m sorry, but it’s like I get so annoyed that I feel whiny. Like just because you’ve given me all these material things, then that was enough.

But you were never there to teach me what I needed to learn. You tell me you “taught” me math, but really you just shouted at me until I learned to associate numbers with hatred and anger. All my questions? You were upset that I even thought to ask questions. Whenever I was sad? You never really bothered to listen to anything I had to say, you were only ever upset that I even had any problems to begin with.

That’s the worst part, I guess. That I can’t even say anything to other grown-ups or other people who have grown old like you. Because to them it was enough that you provided me with all my basic needs and even spoiled me.

But I didn’t want to be spoiled and pampered and treated like a materialistic, shallow git who only cares about comfort. I wanted experiences, and adventure, and my stories which you were never going to be interested in learning about.

I wanted to live. I wanted to learn how to live.

And I learned all that from so many other sources in my life other than you. It’s why I love my friends more than you. It’s why I love my art more than you. It’s why I love my team more than you.

They loved me for me, and they let me know I didn’t have to equate my worth to numbers. They believed in me, and believed I could be somebody in life. They believed my story would be far more than just several years of existing on this planet.

And that is a home worth more than any amount of money you’ve ever tried to spend on me.

The Algebra Queen.

There are some things which sometimes, I forget happened. And it takes me a split second to realize that things are never going to happen again.

It's 3 days to what would have been your birthday, and once again I realize I'm not going to get to greet you, just like last year. Up to now, if there's one regret I have, it's that I didn't get to say goodbye to you. In fact, when I heard the news that you were gone I realized that the last time I had talk to you was a couple of months back.

I've no idea why I'm writing this as if I'm talking to you. As if you're ever going to read this again. But I guess it's what I feel gives it a bit of justice. Maybe it just feels like I've never written you anything before, aside from that one time I tried writing a bit of the story of you and that idiot I call my Big Brother, but I didn't even get to finish that one.

You were the first person to really show me just how much people can change. And you were also the first person that really understood what it was like to have a past like mine - a childhood filled with just nothing but disappointment coming from people who were supposed to be proud of me. You put up with me rambling on and on about how I hated how much of my childhood was wasted away, and you told me simply that I could take it back anyway. And to this day, I keep that lesson to heart.

You were always so forgiving, that way. And I could never really entirely comprehend it back then. You laughed about me and my old idiot whenever we had ridiculous fights, and always reminded me that the stubborn git wouldn't have given up one bit. Not really. Even on days or weeks or months where it would felt  like he had, he was too damned determined to have ever really given up on anything.

You two were childhood friends, and that much showed. You were just about as stubborn as him. And you also had his vicious honesty, and I guess I just wanted to thank you for that. For never being afraid of telling me what I needed to hear. I've gotten so tired of people just being nice to me for the sake of being polite or because they're too damn afraid of hurting me or causing "trouble."

Thank you, because you showed me that a little trouble only made things interesting.

To this day, you remain one of the few examples of humanity that give me hope that I've had the fortune of meeting. After all, there aren't many people out there who could have replied to me with a bunch of cancer jokes after I asked her if she was alright. There weren't many people who would have started talking about the wonders of memories after she had just recovered from amnesia, and told me that maybe you never really forget things. I remember how you surprised me by laughing about stupid television couples and sharing youtube links to love songs on the night your parents got divorced. And I remember just wondering to myself how someone as strong as you could have ever come to exist in this world.

And there aren't many people out there who can make you feel like no time had passed at all, even if months had gone by without either of us communicating. You were one of the few people that it felt like time paused for our friendship, instead of creating a distance between us. And most of all, you were one of the few people who through your honesty, and never being afraid of being vocal of my stupidity, would always be supportive of me. Who was always on my side, as long as I knew what I was doing. You were one of the few people that knew how to smile because imperfections existed, how to appreciate life as it happened, and how to never give up on people as long as you could show them that all they needed to do was try.

I'm sorry it took me forever and your lifetime to ever realize just how much you've given me, really. And I'm sorry that I couldn't save him, and that I can't seem to forgive myself for not being able to save him. I know that if you were here you would have gotten mad at me for blaming myself, too.

And on a random note, thank you for helping me with algebra when I started out with it.

It's been a year since you've been gone, and I miss you terribly.

Advanced happy-would-have-been-birthday, Algee.