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When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. he sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamppost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it.

When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about *design* and *balance* and getting *interesting planes* into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest *academical* tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on.

But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it.

And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.

Brenda UelandIf You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (via phirephoenix)

(Source: nyctaeus)


Anonymous asked:

Often, when I'm writing and having difficulty, I'll think 'let me try looking at this from totally different angle' and I end up basically rewriting the whole thing. I go cycles of doing this and being unsatisfied and retooling again with the same idea. Do you think at certain point you should just let something be or keep tooling with it until you feel it's right? Thank you for your time.


This is a common mistake and a very common question right here on this humble tumble.

 you must push past this cycle and finish what you started and then move onto the next project and then finish what you started and again and again and again.

 one of the great lessons of my life is that no piece of artwork is ever finished it’s just done.  molding and crafting and getting it just right is a beautiful thing… and for me it’s where the magic happens.  but then learn to let go. learn to trust the process.

 a nice thing to do is put it away for a while, a couple of days, clear your mind, work on something else and come back to it. sometimes new ideas reveal themselves that bring the whole piece together or you may reread it and find yourself relieved that it doesn’t suck as much as he thought it did 





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Wooooh. Someone should write a story about this and send it to me.

Pretty sure Lewis Carroll already did…

As everyone has let me known, this is from alice in wonderland. Funny how my mind made the connection but I had no idea. Guess I’ll go read alice in wonderland. :/

Just because the picture is from Alice in Wonderland, it doesn’t mean that you can’t have a story. (sorry, its longer than I intended.)

The room waited, waited for the girl. Black and white tiles shown with the light of the golden chandelier, and a table with glittering clear glass focused its attention on holding a small key. Doors of all kinds, tall, thin, wide, engraved, settled in silence around the room.
She didn’t come.

First to rot where the cream white walls, which grew green and dripped with moist mold. Vermin infested the floor until entire sections crumbled. Still the room hoped and believed she would come to save the land beyond its doors. A land it knew needed her.

There was movement behind the decaying red velvet curtain before it was ripped to the side. Part of the rod holding its weight snapped off the wall. The inhabitants of the land were fleeing. Their ragged clothes, thin faces, and matted fur filled the room. They did not speak as one by one the other doors opened and everyone fell up, up and out into the world the girl was supposed to come from. The last to leave was a cat with a frown as curved as the moon and a rabbit with a tattered vest and broken pocket watch. The rabbit carried a ring of rusted keys in one hand, and a hat in the other. The hat was tall and other than the wear and deep stain it was in good condition. He set the hat gently on the table before hopping around to lock all the doors. Before leaving the rabbit grabbed the hat, and heard the clink of a small key against dusty glass. If the room could speak, it would have screamed at the rabbit for pocketing the key. That key was for the girl, but as the rabbit and cat disappeared in a whoosh of falling upward, the room wished it could leave with them.

The light of the chandelier flickered before another bulb went out. The room, cast in murky shadows, dreamed of how things should have been: the shock on the girls face at seeing such a small door, her frustration and wonder at growing different sizes.

A creaking groan came from the wide door, and chips of wood fell from the once beautiful domed engraving above it. Something shoved against it from the other side, and the room shuddered at the sound. After a few moments another door strained and bent with the weight of something big. One after another the doors were tested, but the room didn’t understand. The doors led to different parts of the land, nothing should be fast enough to check them like this.

With a bang the tall thin door flew off its hinges and shattered the small table. The beast burbled and its flame-red eyes glowed in the darkness beyond the door. Other sounds in the distance, jubbering and bandering, reached past the doorway and there was nothing the room could do to stop them.

drfrankolson asked:

How did you sustain yourself while getting all those "bad pages" done at the start of your career? What kind of work did you? (Forgive me if you've answered this before)


I was eight years old :-)

 I worked at McDonald’s, I worked at a framing store, I worked at a photo developing store, I gave art lessons, I worked at a comic book store, I drew caricatures…

 in the middle of college I decided that I would only work as a freelance illustrator but that would mean a massive amount of hustle. caricature work which paid very well but sapped my soul was the primary source of income well into my first issues of ultimate Spiderman

 I know certain creative people like to act like they were born fully developed as who they are today but all of us had crappy jobs and all of us struggled. the key is to blindly but smartly follow your dreams and to put the work in everyday.

like I’ve said before you have to make your creative self your lifestyle choice.

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