The Stories We Tell Ourselves
In this newsletter, I write about the stories we sometimes tell ourselves about our art, and how we get to choose the way we view it.
I was reviewing some of my older drawings and writings, and to be honest, I expected my older art to be a lot better than my newer stuff. I sometimes had this nagging doubt in the back of my mind that maybe my newer work isn’t as complex or advanced as what I did back then. I went through different challenges and struggles through my life, from mental ones to social media struggles, and so I thought maybe my art suffered from that.
I was pleasantly surprised when I returned to my work, though. I saw that my drawing style and art hadn’t really changed as much as I thought! In my drawings, I still used the same approach I do today: they were really straightforward and simply drawn, and the overall style didn’t change. In my past writing, there were sometimes more details and longer character descriptions, but again, many of the themes and my writing style are similar to what I do today. I still go deep into the emotions of my characters, and I still have the habit of giving them unusual names and multi-cultural backgrounds. I also use inspiration from my dreams and visions for my art, just as I did back then.
I honestly feel a lot of gratitude that things didn’t change as much as I thought. I’m beginning to realize that the story I told myself about my older work being superior was just my own perception. It isn’t necessarily reality. It’s true that I had less challenges going on in my life back then, but that doesn’t mean my creative side disappeared because of them. In fact, it was really a relief to see my art didn’t change that much.
It leads me to wonder how many artists put themselves under unnecessary stress by comparing their past work with what they do today. It doesn’t help that critics sometimes say the later work of an artist, writer, or musician doesn’t capture what came before it. But I think sometimes when we take that viewpoint, we miss out on how someone’s work can mature with time. Instead of weakening, it can actually grow stronger.
There’s no rule that says your art will inevitably deteriorate with time and age. It only becomes true if we believe it.
For myself, I do think my later work has some strengths which come from years of experience and creating stuff. My newer writings are often simpler and more straightforward than my past work, but they still contain a lot of the elements of my style. The dialogue is often more natural and flows really well.
I still like making vivid characters and exploring complex themes on the human experience: our dreams and emotions, the effects of outside pressures from society, and holding onto our uniqueness in worlds where we feel we must conform. I also love an ending with some bite, like an ironic twist, and many of my past stories have that element, too.
I sometimes use more natural sounding character names, instead of the quirkier ones I chose before, but I still like experimenting with how I name my characters. And the art I do today tends to have a more natural and fluid quality, compared to the earlier work I’ve done.
But I also think a lot of my earlier work has great potential, and I hope to publish some of it while I can. Back then, I was developing my style and the themes I liked to explore. I was learning from the authors I read at that time, but gradually putting together my own voice.
Because of that, many of my older stories and art are very experimental. I would try out different styles and sometimes imitate my favorite authors, but I would still add my own spin on it.
For example, I spent a period writing with elements from Chekhov’s stories, such as taking an objective viewpoint instead of pointing the reader to a certain perspective. But over time, I grew beyond strict objectivity to blend in the subjective elements of my characters’ personalities and inner worlds.
What I’ve realized is that I can value what I did back then without negatively comparing it to what I’m doing now. Each period of what I was working on had its own unique qualities, and so I think I should just accept that for what it is. I get to choose the story I tell myself about my art, and I want it to be one where I can appreciate what I do today.
You just read issue #9 of Creative Destiny. You can also browse the full archives of this newsletter.