Deadlines

Been a busy week trying to keep up on the ol' freelance.

The schedules are RIDICULOUS.

I don't know how anyone can keep up with them, but I think that most people aren't...they get a goodly chunk o' stuff done by the deadline, they turn it in, then continue to work on the stuff that still needs to be done while the overworked directors, producers, etc. try to find a moment or two to squeeze in some notes on the boards that have already been turned in.

So here I am trying to finish my first pass on this board by the deadline.

Which ain't gonna be met.

But I'll have a goodly chunk of it done to take over the hill to drop off to the very frenzied director and producer at the end of this coming week.

I feel like I've failed, even though a lot of professionals do this, do just fine reputation-wise, and end up doing as good a job on whatever particular project they're workin on as can be expected under the circumstances.


On top of that, last night we went to the Hive gallery in lovely downtown LA (read: bums were outside of the gallery mixing with the crowd begging for change or alcohol) to check out their monthly group show, which featured the GirlsDrawinGirls group as well as a buttload of other artists.

As usual, the intimidation factor of seeing a buttload of art got to me.

I wish I could be just a little bit confident about my artistic abilities. Why can't Sandra be as confident about her abilities as Tara Armov is about hers? Is it the nature of being shut away from the rest of the world while I create this stuff, and therefore the solitary mindf*** gets to me? Or is it because being a good roller derby player is way more cut-and-dried than what makes good art, which has got to be up there as one of the most subjective outlets in life to be had?

I don't know how other artists deal with this very general, very common insecurity.

What's weird is that last year on My First Directing Gig, I figured out where I fit into the world of that particular production...

I do "stupid" really well. I didn't get hired to draw nice, to be able to do heavy-duty action sequences, or to compose Citizen Kane-esque beauty shots. I just do stupid.

But in the bigger world of art, I don't know where I fit. I like doing stupid doodles or pinups, and both are filled with some ridiculously talented artists who make me look like a retarded third grader on crack. I like my small pond where I know where I fit. The ocean's still overwhelming to me, as I don't know who my audience is, or even if I really have one.

The Dear Husband was looking around, admiring the art, and would whisper to me "advise" on what he thinks I should do to sell more artwork in galleries. On one level, he's right, but that insecure level says, "Why bother? There's ten BAJILLION better artists out there that do better work!"

See? Total mindf***.

This why too many artists in the past weren't bigger when they were alive, methinks. Artist insecurity.

Welp, back to work for me...at least I'm enjoying the current project I'm on. It's funny. And I'm watching a bunch of film noir on the ol' computer sitting on the divorce desk. I get a lovely view of neighbor Beavis' domestic intranquility on top of all this, too.

Maybe I have it made after all.