My Adventure
As an Artist
The tale of a simple man, from his viewpoint as an artist.
My interest in art started when I was very young with the brilliant colors used by Disney in their magical masterpieces. The lush green jungles of the Pride Lands in Lion King, to the busy marketplace on the streets of Agrabah in Aladdin, to the coral reefs in the sea near Sydney in Finding Nemo, the beautiful palette of colors and shades that were used piqued my interest. I wanted to know more about color.
My second hobby that helped drive my desire for color as a child was playing Nintendo games. Similar to what Disney does with their utilization of the full spectrum, Nintendo uses bright and vivid colors of all hues to present original and fun characters and environments. Super Mario, Donkey Kong and Kirby were my original inspiration pieces.
When we would go out to the department stores and shop around, my young eyes would catch all of the bright colors dancing around on the pristine plastic packages. They screamed at me, ‘Buy me, just buy me now!’ Of course, my mom rarely bought into that commercial scheme. She was a very good parent to not give me everything I wanted, thereby learning the very valuable lesson that if you want something you need to earn it. (Thanks again, mom!)
Kids in general have that unmitigated attraction to things that are shiny, but for me it was different than just seeing the pretty colors. Although I hadn’t known it at the time, that oiled the engine of creativity for me.
I began my childhood art phase with coloring books (as I imagine many artists do). Picking out what coloring books I wanted was interesting. Of course, I would choose books that contained my favorite characters from television shows or video games (once they were a thing). Interestingly enough though, this was not the only parameter I set for my choices.
I used to pick out different themes based on a variety of interest factors, including line weight, character layout and amount of potential colors I could use without the picture looking too goofy or unrealistic. I always loved fantasy, but I found that as a child I was already pushing myself for a level of realism beyond the desire of what most other children my age were seeking from their work. Weird, huh?
I got my first little sketchbook when I was 16 years old and began dreaming of all the possibilities. The world was mine, and I could depict it any way I choose.
I could draw… whatever I wanted!
I chose my first subjects very carefully, knowing that I had the power at my fingertips to put down anything on those pages. My desire to see the characters that I shared adventures with in my games had been selected for this task — this task to show what skill I could gain by imitating the great artists before me, who had designed these beings that were just as alive to me as if they were standing there in the room.
And so it began.
I grabbed my favorite issues of Nintendo Power from the perfectly organized shrine (bookshelf) where they rested and opened them up to the pages that featured these characters in the best way possible. When I found the juicy spreads that I was searching for in the magazines, I ran into the kitchen, laid out my utensils, positioned the magazines above my sketchbook and sat dazed for just a moment.
Nervousness crept in and took hold of my mind. I held the tip of my pencil to the paper, a slight tremble shattering my concentration. My heart was pumping blood with such strength that it echoed in my eardrums. It was both an empowering and crippling feeling, having the freedom to express myself. It was so new, so scary — so exciting!
Perfectionism set in and my linework was spot on (as far as I thought at the time). I learned to trace the lines in my mind and replicate it on the page. The title letters began stacking like odd-shaped blocks onto the page. A head formed, a nose, the overalls. Pretty soon, a character of untold importance to my childhood was looking back at me from the page.
It was Super Mario, in the flesh! Well, in the graphite.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I stole my mom’s attention from cooking the evening’s meal saying, “Look, look! It’s Mario, mom!”
Boy was she proud. I knew she was, but her level of praise could never match the enjoyment that I received from making that first sketch.
Over time, the sketches evolved and grew more detailed and I was opening up to other subjects and mediums. Pen texturing and even sand became parts of my movement of expressionism. I even purchased one of those designer desks with the angled drawing surfaces and an LED flood lamp to go with it. A transformation was happening for me… and I loved it.
I tried to absorb new skills and new styles of art that I had not seen before to try some experimentation.
When I was just about 12 years old or so, I created a handmade puppet for every single original Pokemon! How crazy is that?
The first time I had seen some intense work done with pen triggered a new phase of art for me. I would sketch out characters or scenes that I wanted to develop, and using the skills I had been gaining over time, I would trace back over the pencil with finished line work in pen. The black line eliminating the rough graphite had a nice feeling of finality to it. I continued using this method as a mainstay until I made it to art school and picked up some new tricks.
Attending online art classes exposed me to the world of digital art. The Wacom tablet and the Macbook Pro became my pencil and paper. I learned the ways of the 3D modeler and became proficient in Photoshop. Storyboards and texture studies became my new hobby because of the classes I was taking. Times were much different from what I was used to.
After only a short year, I was forced to drop my classes due to military obligations, but I never gave up on my art. Later on when my band mates and I initially formed our band, I had designed our logo and had it printed on shirts not soon after when we had started booking shows. Due to time constraints, I ended up paying another business later to design the logo and album cover that would eventually stick. I sketched here and there, but it looked like my desire to pursue art in an official capacity would not come to pass.
In my twenties, I revisited those old sketches and threw down some colored pencil to spice them up a bit. It was a fun throwback for me to reinvigorate these classics that represented the beginning of my love for all things artistic.
Etsy had been revealed to me through my sister, who was selling her crafted goods and doing alright, and it got me thinking… why don’t I do the same?
I created a few mosaics in pen and marker and some sand art that I’m particularly proud of. The labor was not too intensive, and it gave me a chance to express my artistic side once again, but this time people were able to check it out online!
I used real colored sand and sticky paper for the sand art. Precision cutting with a razor blade and lots of pouring! The prints were done on foil paper, and they turned out really sharp.
In the end though, I became too busy to maintain the work that I wanted to produce. I had to scrap the entire idea and pick up a day job with long hours once again. My creative pursuits were placed on hold for the time being.
Years later, October rolled around and I was introduced to this sketching event called ‘Inktober’. The love I have for art convinced me to participate and I was happy to be doing something creative again.
Each day there was a new single-word sketching prompt that required me to produce a drawing based on the one word. Mostly able to stick to the schedule and produce at least baseline work, I found that I received real enjoyment from creativity once more.
My latest pursuits have been floating around environment creation with Photoshop. It is not being used to generate income, but I am happy doing it — creating backdrops of pure fantasy that stretch my mind and give me the opportunity to dream.
I’m coming to realize is my entire life objective — to dream, unhindered.
The experience that I’ve gained through this life of art will likely lead to some extensive cartography for the lore I am creating. I imagine I will continue with this venture, at least until all of my maps are created and finished with a tidy and professional look.
I’ll be sure to keep this story updated with any future art-related endeavors.
Thanks for reading, and keep an eye out for the next installment in My Adventure!
As a Musician
The tale of a simple man, from his viewpoint as a musician.
Music has been a lifelong passion of mine since I was very young. Even as a baby, experiencing the sounds I was producing was interesting to me. It developed and increased as I got older and was exposed to more styles of music and more understanding of what it took to create the various sounds. I adapted naturally to the syncopation, the driving beat behind most music, and it has remained one of the hobbies closest to my heart.
I started music when I was just a year old with one of these babys, yeah. The smallest but coolest drum in the little infant universe. I suppose my parents thought that I was hitting the dresser with random objects too much.
My school work growing up kept me occupied enough during the day that I hadn’t thought about what I was missing as far as extra-curricular activities. During the evenings, I disseminated the desire to play by learning the albums of the different bands I began collecting. I would listen to them on repeat until I had a sense of what the drummers were doing in the songs. My legs became my drum kit as I attempted to play with the songs.
This was what music was for me until I hit high school.
I saved up my earnings from my very first job to purchase my first drum kit. I was more excited at that moment than I had been in my entire life. I worked for my passion, and it was so satisfying. I ordered all the fixin’s.
I picked out my cymbals, sticks and sturdy hardware to build up the first prized possession I ever owned, that I earned.
I practiced almost every single day. I watched some videos to learn new methods to develop limb independence, stick control and patterns. It became what my life was about. I wanted to be good, and I enjoyed it.
Some friends of mine wanted to start a punk rock band shortly after I developed my skills. We played one show. It was interesting to say the least. I knew we were not going to make it big, but it was fun playing with other musicians.
It also gave me a taste of what it was like to play in public. An experience I would want to sample again later.
In the middle of my freshman year, I was out on the black top at P.E. one day lazily tossing a basketball at the hoop. It was during these times that I contemplated the direction that my life was headed. The problem was, I hadn’t really had one — until this day.
There was a field not too far away where a group of guys were hanging out, doing what seemed like nothing at the moment. I saw that they had some instruments on the grass next to them, but I hadn’t thought much of it. I thought, ‘man these guys just get to joke around and do nothing, during school?’
I was interested.
My schedule was packed with honors classes already, and it was a long road ahead to get through high school. I needed something to free my mind for a period, to relax.
So I watched them. I actually sat down on the black top, and I watched them.
When they were done conversing, the real show started. They each picked up their respective drums and put them on the harnesses. They were walking around with them casually for a bit and making random noises. I thought it was neat, but I wanted to see some action — and I got it.
They called out a cadence and began to throw down what I thought was the single greatest combination of loud noises I had ever heard. In that moment, it was like the angels opened up the sky and called down to me. After watching for the rest of the period, completely awestruck at what I had just seen, only one phrase came out of my mouth:
“I am going to do that.”
Since I knew it was the end of the period, I waited until everyone had left. I got up, and I walked into the room where they had returned and I approached who I thought was the band director. I told him I wanted to play drums.
The band director said, “Oh great, we happen to have a spot open on the line.”
I said, “Cool, whatever it is works.”
He said, “Were you in band in your younger years?”
“No.”
“Well, do you know how to play drums?”
“Of course.” (I didn’t.)
“Can you read sheet music? We use it for the marching shows and the indoor drumline competitions.”
“Oh yes. I can’t read very quickly, but I can read it.” (I couldn’t at all.)
“Excellent. You can start tomorrow and I will have your periods changed. I will also swap one of your earlier academic periods so that you can be in symphonic band as well.”
“Okay.”
“And you’ll need this. Study it and we’ll see where you’re at tomorrow.”
I took the drumline sheet music from his hand.
“Very cool. Thank you!”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Alright, see ya!”
I nearly melted with excitement before I made it out of the room. I had just joined the elite group I saw not moments ago, and would develop a skill that I could be proud of. It had not fully hit me that I would very likely be caught not knowing anything about what I had just signed up for, but I didn’t care. I needed it.
I came home from school and told my parents all about it, and they were excited. My mom asked me if I knew how to play and of course I told her no. (Who lies to their own mother?) She said that as long as it was what I wanted to do, she would support me.
I couldn’t sleep at all that night.
The next day, I don’t think I absorbed a single lesson that was taught to me. I was waiting for the class that would show me whether I had it in me or not. Sixth period rolled around — it was time.
I grabbed my backpack and headed to the band room, palms sweating but feeling confident.
When I arrived, I pulled on the heavy doors and entered a room of voices and odd sounds. Brass bellowed, woodwinds fluttered, bells tinkled and sticks tapped. It sounded like comfort, like belonging.
Everyone in the room was standing in a semicircle around the band director. Each instrument was segmented to their own group and I slid into the drumline group. Assuming I was going to be playing snare drum, I asked where to get one. They pointed at the drums sitting on the carpet — a set of quints. Five drums of different sizes tethered together on one harness.
Oh no.
As intimidated as I already was for getting myself in deep, my heart about stopped in that second. I had no idea what to do with all of that, and they were testing me. I knew they were. They called my bluff.
“Alright everyone, we are wasting too much time, let’s get started”, the band director shouted out.
“Are you all set up?” he said, looking right at me. The whole room was, actually. I was unnerved.
“Yep, all good!” I said back.
“From the top!” he shouted as he raised his hands up, ready to conduct the beginning of the suite we would play for the marching show.
“His hands began to move to a silent count — one, two, three, four…”
Noise blared from everywhere around me. All at once. I couldn’t hear anything specific.
I have never told anyone this until now, but I just hit the drums with no rhyme or reason. I played whatever I felt sounded good to what everyone else was doing, and everyone noticed. I was the only quints player, after all.
The band director stopped the music and had all of us split into our groups, apparently not happy with what he had heard. Having the gut instinct that he might have been upset because of me, my heart sank to the floor.
The drumline took me into the back room.
Even with how small of a group they were, their numbers overwhelmed me and I felt very exposed. The senior of the group pulled me aside.
He had asked me if I knew any rudiments.
I told him I didn’t know what that was.
He sighed.
And so, my journey as a real percussionist began.
I learned the ways of the rudiments, the most basic building blocks that a drummer uses to create everything else. Those skills in turn, helped me do the things that I saw them doing that day on the field without me. What a feeling.
Now I was part of it.
My movements across the field were improving. My precision and stamina were reaching new heights. I was doing it.
Practices were hard, much harder than I thought they would be. But the rewards were numerous.
Our first marching show was coming up for homecoming and I felt both ready and nervous at the same time. Tension.
The time came. Night fell on the evening of the homecoming game. The field was flooded with light. The stands were crowded. We were clad in our white and green uniforms and our hands were warmed up. We were ready, and I was shaking.
And I had a ten second solo. Yikes.
We marched out onto the field and stood ready in our spots. The drum major’s hands went up and we went into prep position.
When the hands dropped, we executed our movements and I beat those drums with everything I had in me. It was a glorious feeling to be part of such a passionate unit.
This sensation continued for about a year and then stopped abruptly — when we moved away.
I lost the only activity I had shown any interest in and had to start all over again. New school. New friends. New band. It was hard to accept the changes.
The new band program was not near as robust as the school I had left. To be honest, it was almost non-existent. My remaining years of high school I spent building my own skill up as much as I could without the help of mentors.
I became drum captain in my junior year and led my own percussion course that had been added to the class list. I wanted so badly to see the program become what I had left behind. It was a desperate move from an aimless musician.
It never did blaze the trail ahead for me.
My senior year came and went. Although the new band director and I had rebuilt the program from the ground up (I only worked the percussion, but still), my skills never progressed any further. I plateaued, which was a death sentence for me.
We played some shows and the band started doing competitions and indoor functions in the off-season, but I desired more.
I went to a try-out for a local drum corps after high school, which would have been a logical next step for the musician that I wanted to become. Everyone there appeared to be very talented and highly trained.
It was obvious. I was not going to make it.
I studied the sheet music for about an hour before it was my turn to try.
Completely nervous and unprepared, my mind drifted away from the music altogether. I snapped.
I began to play little diddles and combinations of rudiments that had become my terrible excuse of a skill, knowing full well that they were about to give me the dreaded news.
I took it horribly, and I walked out with my head hanging low. I felt utterly defeated.
What do I do now?
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