I am an artist and writer working primarily in the genre of dark fantasy. I started out reading lots of fantasy and science fiction and really got into Dungeons and Dragons and other tabletop gaming in my teens and early twenties. I spent a few years working in the video game industry after that and now write full-time. My artwork usually explores the more fetishy side of the fantasy genre, focusing primarily on the thin line between the erotic and the horrific. In my spare time, I struggle with depression and seek the meaning of life. I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it all out.
I come to you tonight with a heavy heart… nah, just kidding. I’m just riding out another one of what I call my “chemical depressions.”
There are times in my life when really bad stuff has happened to me, and I’ve felt pretty crappy about it, and then there are times like this, where things are actually pretty good, but I just don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t want to draw. I don’t want to write. I mainly just wanna eat cookies and sleep. It’s just some chemical imbalance in the brain that makes me want to curl up and hibernate or something… some vestigial throwback to some survival instinct that helped our ancient ancestors survive in times of overabundant creativity or something… I wish I had an antidote for this, but I’ve just come to accept it as part of who I am. I’ve learned to keep moving, keep getting stuff done, and, sooner or later, it passes, and I get back to being awesome.
The thing is, it’s really hard to be creative when I’m like this. I mean, I can do it, if I make myself, but it’s kinda just… (bleh). I mean I can draw a cute girl and a monster wrestling together, but their hearts just aren’t in it, if you know what I mean… It all just seems kinda cheap and tawdry… unsatisfying.
I dunno. Sometimes I worry that my libido is drying up or something. I mean, I’ve drawn thousands of sexy girls since the day I first sat down and tried to draw the lingerie models in the Sears catalog. (Man, I’m old enough to remember when they still had catalogs… maybe I really am getting too old for this stuff.) You see, I remember a time when drawing a beautiful woman was an illicit thrill for me, some forbidden ritual, filled with wonder and excitement. Now, I’m just grumbling to myself as I try to pull the perfect curve for her left breast… dammit! Her eyebrow’s gone wonky… gotta redraw that!
It’s not just the depression. I just don’t enjoy it as much as I used to.
Then again, I wonder if there’s even any point to doing this anymore. I mean, I hear all the social justice warriors ranting about the objectification of women, and, at first you kinda tune them out as the same old hypocritical prudes that have been slamming you your whole life, but, honestly, if you take the time to listen, some of them make some pretty good points.
You have to understand, I still believe in fetish art. I still think it has a place and has value. I think you can celebrate sex, even some of the darker fantasies of sex, in a positive way. It’s just that, lately, I’ve started to feel like I’m just waving the banner because no one else has come along to take it from me.
I mean, you’re always gonna have porn, if you know where to look for it, but I’ve prided myself on standing in the gap between porn and art, and trying to make people see that the gap is an illusion. Nowadays, though, I don’t think very many people even care about the middle ground. Everything is so polarized. You’re either a SJW or a rampant misogynist. Anyone that tries to stand in the middle and make peace just gets beat down from both sides.
I dunno. I guess I’m just having the same old crisis all over again, and, frankly, I’m tired of listening to myself whine about it. If it were just a matter of being marginalized, it wouldn’t be an issue. I’ve been marginalized my whole life. Nothing new there. It’s just that I’ve come to a point where I’ve gotten bored of drawing the things I used to love to draw, and that really scares me.
I mean the world changes. Maybe I am a dinosaur… some remnant of a sillier time when men wore beards and stabbed alligators with really big knives. Me, I draw naked women and like shooting guns, but I think the universe has kinda outgrown the world I grew up in. It’s a joke now, used to sell cheap deodorant and beer. I would weep for its passing, but I can’t seem to muster any tears for it. Those days really sucked for a lot of people who weren’t bearded guys with guns, and maybe it’s OK that those people are finally getting their shot at changing the world. Good for them.
So I’ll cling to my ideals of manliness, and try to pass the best of those ideals on to my sons, but it’s all right if the world wants to try something else out too. Other people don’t have to lose for me to win, and anybody who feels that their manliness is threatened because Max let Furiosa use his shoulder for a bipod has a pretty shaky grasp of manliness.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what I want to say. I just know that I don’t want to keep repeating the same thing over and over again, because I’m getting kinda bored with it.
A day comes that you look around and realize that you don’t really recognize the world anymore, and you can either choose to wrap yourself in your memories of the way things used to be and shut it all out, or you can sniff around and see what this new place has to offer.
Anyway, thanks for sticking around this long. I know I tend to ramble when I’m depressed. I’m not planning on giving up or closing up shop here. I just wanted to let y’all know where my head is at, and I hope you’ll stick around to see what I come up with next.
I love you all… even the really crazy ones. Stay cool, and take it easy, my friends!