I had a lot of sleepless nights in the small room. I still got some sleep, but it took me hours of contemplation in bed, before I actually do. Unwillingly staying up as late as 4 am, only to wake up at 8 or 7, because the family is up and about and the usual household noise is inevitable.. The months passed, the seasons changed, and I was still drawing.. But after a couple thousands of drawings, I still do not have a desired specialization, that of which might be inquired on the day I am to work and get paid. I just continued studying various subjects and approaches. Through my motivated upswings and burnt-out downswings, I believe there was still a steadfast pace, which my art journey is moving in; I want to support it, positively, as much as I can.

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     When I had the chance, I tried printing the works I managed to accomplish so far. And it was a new sensory experience, seeing the digital works on paper. To see the works through not the means pixels, but through blots of ink on a white bond paper. I sticked them up against the wall beside me. It always felt something, whenever I looked towards my left and see the works lined up. I look at them the most frequent, during the hottest hours of the day; when the drawing tablet is hot enough to radiate heat, perceivable by the eyes. 

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     I thought that I would be spending more time in that small room; but, as my reality does it, I left that place due to my familial circumstances, by a reason I never anticipated. I just want to keep this part short.. One of my brothers came back to the house. By the way, at this point, six members of our family were back in the house. Eventually, all 7 heads were present. By then, I had company in the small room, again. And the reason why I needed to get out there was due to the extreme stress I was experiencing because of said brother. How he threw tantrums, and how it was consented by everybody else.. How my patience was taken for granted. One night, because of the matter, I almost killed myself. It was the first instance in my entire life, that I felt I was really about to kill myself. I drank a cup of coffee worth 400 grams of caffeine (with 40g for the average cup) that night, moreover; my nerves were a mess. I was already suffering from pulmonary and respiratory issues, on top of the mental, because of the stress that was ever-prevailing in the air of our household.. But more than all of the physical factors combined, that night: it was the first point in my life where I was consciously aware how I succumbed to despair. Despair in all aspects "despariable". A despair, coming from the first and foremost issue at the time: the overall stress I was experiencing from my family. I felt despair in the realization that I am currently bound to live with people who could and would never understand how and who I truly am. I felt despair in the realization that I was amidst people who would always choose to lick each other's wounds rather than to solve said issues, decisively. I felt despair in the realization how alienated my way of life is, and that because of it, it was natural for me and for the things I care about to be undervalued and discriminated.. I felt despair in the realization that everyone is bound, in time, forget (including me); to forget about the causes of my traumas, the motivations to break away from said reality... I am always living my days, beyond my nerves.. And, I felt despair in the realization that it would be a long time before I get to be on my own, if I ever would... It was just despair. A jet black, mucky and boiling, tar of a despair in my chest.. How I wished for the dreadful reality I was living in, to just stop already. How "finished" I felt towards "Carl's life".. Towards "Carl's life with the family".. How finished I was, with all the things which were anything but life.. I wanted to just die so bad, because I was so done having to deal with things and people, which and who I did not ask for nor be with, in the first place... But I also wanted to continue on living, because I have still much art to do. Much art to see. Much art to live for. I still have an ambition life to live for.. To continue living "Carl's life", even though it is first endowed with what might be its most bitter parts.. Indeed, I felt despair. .. From a swirl of all things deplorable, I hope that the footprints of my life's journey lead towards someplace "life". Someplace that is the tantamount of my life's efforts to live for art.

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     Ever since that night, my general state of mind has been more fragile. Weaker and more susceptible to minor stresses. And to this day, I feel that I still am suffering some of the aftermath. A self diagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, if you will. I felt like I shed a piece of my mental fortitude, during that malicious night.. I don't want to go through something like it again.. But after that night, I ended breaking down again in two more nights, in a lesser intensity. How easier it was, to break down; I got more wavering after all... It's a no-brainer question at this point, if someone asks me if I would rather live alone, or if I have ever considered living by myself. Nobody needs to exercise any of their brain cells, if he is in my position.. The traces of scars and trauma on my body and soul are more than enough to let anybody know.. Countless times I sincerely wished to have the ability to close my ears. For the things I do not want to see, I can simply avert my gaze or close my eyes. But for the things I hear, no amount of plugging in nor covering is enough to block out the mentally-degrading gestures and intentions underneath the noises which I hear.... .. An unexpected consequence I had to pay for learning how to observe the gesture of life, is how much it unveiled the grotesque gestures around my immediate reality.. These gestures, more commonly known in terms such as, "body language", "hidden intentions", "double meaning"; Those kinds of stuff. Those kinds of useful and interesting aspects when observed and studied with a healthy and good approach.. Those kinds of stuff that also entail the worst of life.

 

     Yet still, time continues to tick, life continues to pass.. And through it all, so far, I still continued drawing. Or really, it's more of drawing still continued me. And because of that, the life-learning still continued. One of which, is how I learned to recognize and differentiate if the tension I am feeling is from the practice or from Carl's immediate reality. It helped me in multiple levels; being able to ease my mind if I am aware that the stress I am experiencing is from drawing. A good stress, if anything. Before, I have seen stress as something intertwined of everything stress-related; it was just a big, united chunk of mess. But being able to take a step back, analyze, and sort things out to a degree, provides a relief of sorts, to my peace of mind.

 

     Around February of 2022, I revisited anatomy, again with Sir Stephen Rogers' book. I felt a great degree of humbleness when I noticed I learned things. That I improved and that the information I took in, roughly 2 years ago, sticked with me. It was easier to comprehend the anatomical terms, and more importantly, the forms and the subjects themselves. The bones, the muscles. They were more comprehensible, as I was more educated and more practiced.. And with that, I finished my second go with Sir Stephen's book; studies illustrated digitally, this time around. 

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     For life is admired by art, and that people admires both; the continuous engagement with a practice that is rooted on all-life, broadened my life's horizons. I did not necessarily became happier in life. That being said, I also learned that, happiness isn't the "end goal" of my current drawing practice. I have observed that the pursuit for wisdom is the more fruitful and meaningful between the two. I believe that the former is opted by the majority. To look forward to and live towards happiness isn't a "wrong" way of life. Nevertheless, in my opinion, for what it's worth: life isn't only about happiness. For its bigger picture is all-life; all-considering. That life is only a complete circle when its blacks are met with whites, its whites met with blacks. And grays for its black and whites. For life is the universal act of balance and contrast. And that every possible existence within its sovereignty, divinely have two sides to them. That there could only be such thing as unique identities, unique existence, if it has all-life around it, with which it is to be considered with as a whole... That the study of art, the study of life, is a practice that does not necessarily entails only everything positive nor everything negative; but, everything.. How the practitioner of arts is not necessarily bound to be happy, but to be enlightened.

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     As much as I won't be who I am nor the drawings and artworks that happened upon me would exist, had I not gone through what I had; I still think about what possibilities could have been open to me had this and that thing happened or not. Like, just how able am I right now, at this point of time, had I been drawing more for the past 2 decades of my life, instead of being immersed in the culture of video games. How am I doing, and what am I pursuing right now, had my family been in better circumstances; had I been in a different family, or society, or country. And between those thoughts is a concern for art.. In these "parallel/other lives", I wonder how personal and meaningful would the practice of drawing be, to me.. Nothing is absolute, and that includes my inclination to art. Even now, even as it is what I am trying to work out in this "current" life, I still manage to find time looking at other interesting avenues in life. I still get distracted with the gaming culture, with which I grew up with, in greater portion.. For Life is all-life after all. Life is not just about "art", its also about the pursuit of culinary, business, religious, naturalistic, scientific practices... But whatever life I could have, and "could-would have", I believe that if I am to be living amidst the same all-life, with the same experiences sensible, and with the same wisdoms under the works of everything; I believe I would appreciate art in all my possible lives. In some, I would not pursue it as a career; nevertheless, I believe I would find connection with it.

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... And in "this" life of mine, "this" Carl who chose to continue on living with art as his source of mental and physical fuel; in this life, I hope I would be living out art as faithful, respectful, and vivid as I could.