Recovering From Art Prostitution

This is a paper I wrote for art class. It is not perfect, but I had fun writing it:

Recovering From Art Prostitution

I hate Art.

At least, that’s how I felt for most of my life. How did I get there?

I got there through prostitution.

I don’t mean the risk-ay kind. I mean… well… lets just jump back to Elementary School. I was not always the cool, stunning specimen of a man that I am now. There was a time when I looked more like a tiny troll who took glass bottles and wire and twisted them into over-sized spectacles that were a spectacle in their own right. While looking through my view-warping mask of loneliness, I discovered a cruel world. “Nerds” were not cool at the time. I didn’t have many friends. I was not popular.

Then I met Andrew Prez.

From my spot on the asphalt, near the tether-ball, I could see a crowd of kids amassing. He was new to the school and everyone wanted to meet him. Upon seeing his instant popularity, I was angry. People liked him just because he was new? What an outrage! He just shows up and friends come to him.

“I will never be friends with him,” I told myself. “I won’t even talk to him.”

That same day, I was walking home from school and saw him following close behind. “Oh no!” I thought, “We walk home the same way!” I didn’t know what to do. I decided to cross the street. He followed. “Leave me alone,” I muttered under my breath.

“Hi, I’m Andrew!” came the blood-curdling, bone-chilling, goose bump-raising, warm-sounding, happy-toned, friendly voice behind me. “We should walk home together!” And so, a friendship was born. We walked home together every day of Elementary and Middle school.

“What does this have to do with art?”

Calm down, reader. I am getting there.

Now, Let’s go to Third Grade, where everything went wrong. At the time, Pokemon was just starting to get popular. The kids on the playground who were lucky enough to have a GameBoy and the Pokemon games were the coolest in school. One such person was: The Temptress. This she-devil became popular very quick. Everyone knew that Bathsheba had it all: A pikachu backpack, Pokemon trading cards, the Pokemon games, and, most of all, the ability to draw any Pokemon without looking at a reference. The harlot Isabella was hot! Everyone wanted to be her friend, if not more than that. Andrew Prez fit into the “more than that” category. We began to follow The Queen of Blades and her posse of hell-spawn around the playground every day. Andrew Prez fit in with them like a Dug-Trio. I became The Tag-Along.

To Meggie Riecks and her group of friends I was a scapegoat. They made fun of me for my large glasses, skinny figure, hand-me-down clothes, and lack of drawing ability. I hated it, but I couldn’t just walk away. My best (and only) friend was fully indoctrinated. I decided that I would just try my best to fit in and be cool. One of the things that I decided would get me there was drawing. I began drawing all the time. I drew Pokemon and people during every free moment that I had. I tried hard to be better than Meggie. I thought that if I could somehow be better than her, I could dethrone her monarchy and take over as leader of the group… the group that I was never really a part of.

As you may have guessed, this never worked. After years of drawing and doodling, I began to hate it. I had been creating art in an attempt to become popular and get recognition. I drew for the reward that never satisfies. Over time, I drew less and less. All the recognition in the world could not give the satisfaction that I needed to keep it up. My creative wonderland soon became a barren wasteland.

Years later, I began to rediscover art. This time, I was not getting into art to be popular or famous. I began to discover that I do love it. I learned that I need art and creativity in my life. Without it, life becomes gray. Without art, life is a late-night office cubicle; dim fluorescent lights humming overhead. Without art, life has no meaning -- no depth. I need art to feel alive -- to mean something.

I am still learning to love Art. The temptation is always there to try to get recognition for what I have done. I feel the nagging to show others my work in the hopes that they will love it, and, in turn, love me. Somewhere inside, there is still the little boy hoping to make friends through art. I just need to ignore that little boy and take comfort in my true friend, Art itself.