I have come to the conclusion that I am undoubtedly and dangerously lazy. I submit to all these job applications highlighting my work ethic and rigor. Truth is, I don’t have any. Not in any way that counts anyways.
My passion throughout my life has stayed the same. The house I grew up in has my paintings hung on every empty wall; the rest is shoved under a bed somewhere. And somewhere in the basement of my parents’ house, covered in dust and presumably dead spiders, there is a box. The box is filled with cards I made as a child, drawings, and stories. I never realized how many stories I used to write - not until I was an adult. There was one story that I wrote when I was 10 where the main character has to move to Chicago. Weirdly enough, I did end up moving there for a brief time later in my life (but more on that later).
Painting and writing were the two things I felt confident in. It was my strength and my idea of fun. And the beauty of it…I fell into it on my own. Nobody pushed me or sent me to some nerd camp. I just gravitated towards it. Like me and my work was in some way intrinsically linked. It was natural. It was easy. My dad is a hyper-observant man. He would constantly get irritated with me when I wouldn’t hear him. My work had me tune out the senses that weren’t used. He would constantly call my name, again and again. And I wouldn’t hear him until the fourth or fifth time. Naturally, this would probably get a bit annoying, and it most definitely did.
Art was my escape. It was something I did for fun. Unfortunately, it was the only thing I was skilled at.
I tried to monetize off it. And all that strength, all that catharsis, all that fun decimated. And I believe that’s where my laziness began to bleed into my work.
How can it be like that about something I’m so passionate about? Something that is so inherent. How can I resort myself to the bare minimum when this is what I wanted to do? This was my dream. Present tense. This is my dream. It’s all that ever was. And yet, I find myself hiding behind a corner.
I went to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Associated myself with the talented and the pretentious. In retrospect, I’m thankful for my experiences there. But at the time, I didn’t fit in. Nor did my work. I didn’t see myself as a groundbreaking artist. Someone who stood out. I was good but not good enough. Whenever I studied past works or the works of my peers, I couldn’t help but feel less than adequate. What was special about me? I had nothing of interest to say or show.
Art school seemed like the only viable option for me. I liked it but more importantly, I was good at it. Good enough to get into a good school. In grade school, I maintained the bare minimum. But that’s it. Anything remotely extra, I found a way to not do it. I didn’t even read the books. SparkNotes was a saving grace. I cheated on tests. I napped a whole lot. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret it. Not one bit. I probably should. Maybe for the sake of integrity or whatever. But despite being so lazy, I still got graduated and got my degree. Art was the only part of my life I put in the work. Where I took my time. No matter how much my back hurt or how hard my hand cramped. I was committed all the way through. It would take my mother to come down in the middle of the night and say “you’re done” to pull me out.
Now as an adult, attempting to succeed as a storyteller and artist, I can’t bring myself to start the work. To just sit down and do things that would come so easily once upon a time. No, I would rather sit down and watch some nonsense tv or read something unintelligent. I have the same inspired drive, that excitement, that energy I would carry through my earlier work. And now, like in school, I do the work, but I worry if that’s all I amount to even in regard to something I am good at and have a profound relationship with.
There’s a painting sitting in the corner of my apartment. I had this rush of inspiration a month and a half ago. I painted and painted. Got a little frustrated. Painted again. “Finally,” I told myself, “Finally, I’m out of this debilitating slump.” I kept going until I didn’t. I have not returned back to that painting in the past 3 weeks. This is not a commission. Nor something I needed to do but rather something I wanted to do. And yet it sits there, incomplete, collecting dust. I have a comically small apartment. That canvas is doing nothing but taking up space. I’m itching to finish it and put it away. But I haven’t.
Capitalizing off my art has done more harm than good. It’s not about me anymore. I wish I could just say “screw the consumer!” But I cannot. I will not. Art is just as much for the viewer as it is for the producer. And at the end of the day, consumers are supplementing my life. It would be naïve to assume their opinion doesn’t matter. It’s about my audience and my buyers. Whether they see the worth. They see my worth.
My work is an extension of myself.
To have to be rejected or, worse, completely ignored as if it didn’t exist. As if I didn’t exist. In such a saturated market full of artists – and more notably, content creators – it’s easy to be buried. Especially on the internet which is arguably your most useful and the most dangerous tool. You have your more traditional artists, along with content creators, NFT artists, Instagram comedians, people who simply just dance. People have been opportunistic in making content off of anything. And it paid off. In the brief moments of motivation and productivity, when I push myself to make content – I seem to find myself with lackluster results. Granted, I never really put enough effort into it to garner more desirable results.
So, it begs the question…where is the middle ground? Between a passion and a career. Between something I want to do and something, I have to do. While I’ve been going on about how this is laziness – and which to some extent, it is, there’s no excuse – what of finding that middle ground? As a creative and as a businesswoman. Where I contain the same drive I had as a child and work it into my career. When I created not for my consumer but myself. Where I held pride in my work instead of falling down a hole of my own self-criticism.
With the fear of being buried, I allowed myself exactly that.
And so here is my attempt.
To claw my way out of the six feet of dirt that is piled above me.
I don’t tell people what I want to do with my life. At least, not most people. I don’t tell people the number of jobs I apply to. I don’t tell them about the auditions, only that I “have to do something”. I say I have a “meeting” or a “call”; never an “interview” even if that’s what it is. And then they ask, “what meeting” and I stammer. Cause they’ll know if I fail.
But truth is, I already have. I’m at ground zero.
I have many dreams and many different avenues of which I see my success: 1. To work my career specifically like Mindy Kaling. To create, write, produce, perform in my own work. To be my own boss and have creative freedom. To determine my own career as I am the one building it. 2. An artist, as simply as I can put it. Namely, a profitable artist. Like Kehinde Wiley and all his large, daunting, and ultimately beautiful portraits. A gallery of my work. With buyers. With my name becoming recognizable with my work. How with Wiley’s work, you see a smooth Black portrait surrounded by greenery and know it’s his work. That’s what I want as a portraiture artist. 3. To write novels and short stories. To hold a book in my hand, with my words. To have readers consume my work the way I consume others’.
So, you must be asking, “how in the world will you do that, Krutika?”
I truly have no idea.
I plan on using this platform for my short stories, personal essays, and whatever else I deem worthy enough to share. I need to share my work. Show people, I am capable of the dreams I have for myself. Show myself that I am capable. And hope that it can reach someone, anyone who may understand.
So, that’s what this platform will be for me.
Fuck it.
Beautifully expressed. You surely have a great passion and "INSIDE" proves it beyond doubt. By questioning - where is the middle ground between passion and career - you also seem to have already found the answer to that middle ground. That middle ground - it's common problem at different levels across life. Some people just give up, but some people use time management effectively and efficiently. I'm sure artists like Mindy Kaling and Kehinde Wiley did the same (managed time between passion and also did something else to survive) before they became them. Whatever you do, I'm sure one day I'll visit gallery of your own work, and spend many weekends reading your novels.
Beautifully written, expressed I should say. Loved it - Keep it coming , Krutika