HIDDEN TALENTS

Sometimes I consider my own mortality and wonder if, or how I will be remembered. Will I be remembered fondly for my sense of humor, or will I be remembered as a good and kind man? Will I be remembered for all of the mistakes I have made, or the many hurts I have caused? Will I be remembered at all, or will I be remembered for my many hidden talents? If I am remembered for anything, will those that remember me still wonder why I never did anything with my life?

I was chatting with a friend online last night, and shared some of my drawings. Her question of me was "What are you doing keeping all of this talent to yourself?" I really did not have a very good answer, but my response to her query was "I already know I am talented, but... I do not care enough about it to do anything about it. I do these things because I enjoy them. If I tried to do it for a job, I would grow to hate it."

She accepted my answer, but obviously did not agree with me. She told me "I'm not saying it would have to be a job. It would be sharing with others and maybe witnessing to some that may need it too." She continued, "...you and I really need to meet....so I can kick your butt!!! What are you doing? You have so much talent, and you are keeping it all to yourself. I'm not saying this because I think all art and talent should be exploited or something. But, gifts of this magnitude are meant to be shared for others to enjoy. God gave you this gift, it should be shared, and it can be shared in the terms of understanding that it comes from God, therefore helping others to become interested in what that means....and you could be helping others, whether it is kids who also doubt their own talent, or adults who have been thru a lot too."

Of course she is right. I could share my talents, my abilities, my art, my resources, my time, and even my life. There are many areas across the board where I have been very selfish, and there are many things I could be doing a lot differently. Even if I changed, and began to share more of myself, I may not make a difference in any one else’s life, but perhaps in opening myself up to others, perhaps it will be my life that is changed. Perhaps in letting go of my inhibitions, my fears, my insecurities, my pride.... perhaps in the letting go of these things I will find my life becoming better, and I myself growing happier, and healthier.

The images I am posting along with this blog are all pictures and cartoons and caricatures I have drawn the past couple years. Towards the end of 2006 I became interested in pointillism, and many of the drawings here are approximately the size of postage stamps. I will attempt later to post other drawings I have done, which include more cartoons, doodles, sketches, and even tattoos I have drawn. I have so many photos to go through, and boxes of paper... I cannot say how long it will take me to do all of this.

My friend was right, even though I have heard the same speech over the years from my ex wife, my sister, my girlfriends, my friends, my family, and just people who have seen the handful of drawings I have laying around. Every one of them it seems, is more interested in my potential than I am. Every one of them gets frustrated with me for not exploiting these gifts. I understand thier feelings, and have no problem understanding the point they keep trying to make. I just wish they could for one moment step into my shoes and understand how difficult this all is for me. Here I have something I like to do, and something I am good at, but to me, it will never be good enough. I have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and there is a certain order I have to keep. When things fall out of array or out of routine, It makes me crazy.

When I was young, I played the clarinet. I practiced seven days a week. However, I would never be allowed to ever become proficient at it. My step father was a rotten man. Angry, bitter, miserly, and mean. He was fine to everyone else, but to me, he was a tyrant. I was kicked out of my home, but my nephew was allowed to move in. I was not allowed to touch him ever, but he touched me often enough with a switch. For that matter, he touched me often enough with his fists and hands.

As for the clarinet, I was only allowed to practice in the cold unfinished basement. He hated the repetitious nature of my lessons, and did not want to hear me play. let alone hit the bad notes. Now, if you have played a reed instrument, you know it is not a pleasant sensation when you hit the bad notes anyway. But to have him ridicule me when I did play, and yell at me when I didn't, it created confusion in me. He was always reminding me how much the instrument was costing, and I "by God better make it worth the money he was paying." As best I can tell, it was never worth the money.

I was not allowed to eat in the same room as him, I was not allowed to leave my room except to eat and use the bathroom. I never was allowed to draw (waste paper) or build anything ("don't know how to use tools properly" Every step of the way instead of encouraging, loving, and teaching me, he beat me down and ridiculed me. He minimized every accomplishment I ever had, and never once called me by my name. Around other people I was referred to as "the boy", but when we were alone, I was usually some variation of "You worthless son of a bitch!" This killed whatever self esteem I had.

To this day, if I cannot do it well, I generally will not do it at all. I now know I have choices and I do try to make the right ones, but sometimes it is easier just not to try at all. Thats it in a nutshell. I hope you like these images. I am going to post this as it is, and will get back to the thought later. I have been awake since 4am, and with only three hours sleep under my belt, I am just not able to focus any more right now. Thanks for your patience.