When I need advice about art (whether your art is digital,
on-the-page-with-a-paintbrush, the written word, what to wear with ‘mom jeans’,
or how to hold an E chord on ukulele without a hand cramp), I turn to the internet.
As with many artists, I don’t have a mentor. I’ve had plenty of
teachers and have plenty of artistic inspirations, but having and finding
someone who can answer all your
questions and give you advice (even when you don’t ask) is seemingly impossible.
I have questions about scanners and felt tip pens and how to
increase your vocabulary without reading the dictionary and how to structure
poems online. In one day. It goes on.
The trained professionals – ones who have degrees and years of
creative success – are interviewed or willingly write essays for publications
on ‘HOW TO: be an artist and also a
functioning human.’
Despite how helpful the wisdom these creative give, they’re always
looking back and reflecting on what it was like to be my age or in my position:
a twenty-something going through her degree, trying to ‘make it work’. Whatever
that means.
When the advice columnist says ‘It
was hard but fun’ to be going through uni, doing unpaid work to get
experience, working shitty part-time jobs, having a series of looming
deadlines, and their advice is to ‘Just
believe in yourself!’, it’s hard to relate and you feel two-feet small
after their ‘advice’.
I mean… Who asked?
(Apart from me when I typed ‘advice from freelance journalists’ into
Google.)
What young artists want (and need) to hear are the words from a
friend. Someone who is going through the same thing they are. It can be hard to
fins people IRL who relate to your struggle and can offer more than a
half-hearted ‘It’ll be fine!’
I’m here to be that friend for you. Jealousy, self-care, and doubt
are very real things as artists. And I’ve got some advice for you that you didn’t
ask for.
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