When I grow up...

Ever since I was three years old I have known what I wanted to be. I never questioned it. I was an artist. I drew, painted & sculpted every chance I got. I was driven.

It's 2011, I'm 36, and suddenly I'm not sure anymore.

This is very strange for me. I have no drive, no goals, nothing to look forward to, nothing to work toward & quite frankly am having a very difficult time figure out what the hell the point is.

There didn't need to be a point before. The passion & the drive were enough.

Most of my ideas were fueled by the vivid dreams I would have every night. Now, I don't dream. I go to bed & wake up. In between there is just blackness.

I'm definitely down. Probably more than it seems on the outside. I'm struggling. I just don't get it. Have I failed? Did I mess up somewhere? Am I even an artist at all or have I been pretending for 33 years? Art is such a joke nowadays. Of course, maybe that's part of it. Maybe art was always a joke. Maybe the teachers I had just elevated its importance. Maybe I bought into it.

I've never sold a single thing. My technique is old & stale. I've stop growing & improving. I'm far below the level I should be for 36. My stuff looks dated. The digital world is invading & trampling traditional illustration & commercial art & I am so far behind in that area.

I can't make any money. Now, money is far from the point, but I simply cannot live off of making art. My job is non-art related & sucks what little passion arises from time to time right out of me.

I'm superstitious as well. I injured the one part of my body that I really need to make art. My right shoulder & arm. I landed an art show & had it canceled two days before it opened. I've never sold anything. No one wants to pay for my art. (Except you Chrome. I will get you a price.) So really...isn't the universe telling me that maybe, just maybe, I should go do something else?

For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do & quite honestly, I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up.

I don't know if I want to be an artist.

I just want to sleep. For months. Or years. I want everything to go away. I want a do over.

I want to dream again.