There are only so many things you can do to a photo in preview, iphoto, and Word (that's right...I'm so unwilling to spend money on a real photo-editing program that I just stretch the limits of these less exciting options), and because I was starting with pictures taken with a rather sub-standard camera anyway, my optimistic fiddling still seemed to come up short. To me the results were contrived and kitschy--and even more so because achieving them took so little effort on my part. What was even worse, in my mind, was that I just seemed to be endlessly rehashing my old works...stretching thin what substance those efforts may have once had into pallid attempts at depth and originality.
Somehow I still found myself liking these digital doodles...and then blushing with embarrassment because of it. I felt I could see myself as another more authentic artist might: a zealous aspirant whose side-tracked talents had never progressed beyond the promise of mildly interesting juvenilia...an aging wannabe trying to pass off bored electronic fiddling as some sort of brilliance.
Though I've had a few public shows in the past, and I always love to hear that others appreciate works I've done, my prime creative motivation has always been personal expression. I feel that the end results turn out better when I'm not concerned about how others view my works. Such an attitude provides a safe stage upon which to experiment, fail, succeed, and try-try-again to my heart's content. As I age, however, I find this unselfconsciousness is increasingly harder to maintain.
Still, the creative urge burns on: whether--at the end of the night--fortune smiles and I'm able to complete something I consider a personal masterpiece, or I only end up writing mediocre poetry superimposed upon old photos overlaid in Microsoft Word.
...Try, try, again...
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