The Canvas Laid Before You
You were not in a good mood. Hell, that was the nicest possible way to put it. Right now you are livid. Your blood pressure was rising, your eyes went red, and your mind turned in on itself as you crumpled up yet another piece of paper and tossed it off into the distance, not caring where it might land.
You groaned, taking a deep breath, and fell back into your seat letting the soft cushion seep into you. You wanted to keep going, to push beyond your known limits and just improve with your art, but right now, with your seething hatred of what you were making, you weren’t sure that was something you had in you.
Yet, despite it all, you armed yourself with your pencil and put it to paper. You just had to keep going. You were not going to improve by doing nothing, that was something you knew. But with each stroke, with each line made, your mind begged you for a break. It only made you more frustrated, and you found yourself not enjoying the hobby you’ve poured so much of yourself into. In a sense, it made you hate yourself.
You stopped before you made another stroke on the page. You felt that if you were to make just one more line your mind would snap and you’d go into a rage fueled comatose. Besides, the room around you was littered with the remains of your efforts, and honestly you were not in the mood to clean up a mess any bigger than that.
You set your utensil down, and reached up to rub your face intensely. You were so upset with your work and yourself you feared you were not gonna come back the next day and try again. You’ve been forcing yourself to draw every single day despite all the internal pain. You had a chain to carry on, and you knew the moment you lost a day you would lose a month.
You internally battled yourself, one half demanding you were a failure if you stopped now, and another more reasonable side telling you that it was okay to take a break. Sighing, you went with the latter half. You were starved, you were tired, and you wanted to just get out and do literally anything else with your life.
There was one place you actually would like to visit, and you knew she’d be more than happy to see you. The place on your mind was the Carousel Boutique, and the person, or pony in this case, was none other than Rarity.
You’ve admired her for as long as you’ve known her. There was a magnetic aura about her that drew you in. Not only that, you both shared a passion for creativity, though you considered yourself much lesser than her, and for valid, technical reasons. Though, she never seemed to mind, and the two of you always tended to spit-ball ideas off each other each time you had the time to hang out.
Getting up from your seat, you stretched, and twisted your back, getting a few satisfying ‘pops’ in response. There was one thing everyone could agree on, and that was popping your back was simply the best. There was no debating that.
Letting out a content sigh, you began to make your way downstairs and out your front door. The sun was beginning to set, and that made you realise just how much you’ve been at work today. Well, it was your day off, you can do whatever you desired, but knowing you’ve spent so long hitting a wall and getting nowhere really disheartened you.
Tossing the thought to the side, or at least trying to, you made your way across town. By now all the inhabitants of the quaint little hamlet have grown accustomed to you, the novelty of a hairless, elongated chimp losing its charm.
You were happy for that, considering you’d prefer to keep as low a profile as possible. Being the only one of your species in the land of Equestria sort of made that an impossibility for a long time, and adjusting to that was a real pain in the ass.
After a few moments of walking, passing and greeting fellow town’s folks, and taking in the evening air, you made it to your destination. It did stand out remarkably well considering it was the only building of its type in the entire town. You were sure that was intentional, given the occupants desire for dramatic flair.
You made your way up to the door, took another deep breath, rubbed your temples to try and wane off the headache you were developing, and then knocked on the door lightly.
There was no response.
You didn’t want to be a bother, but you assumed, much like you, she found herself absorbed in her work. Tunnel vision was something the two of you shared in common.
You knocked with a little more force this time, knowing for sure she’d hear. After another moment without a response, you looked off to the window to the side, noticing that the sign read that she was open for business.
“Hmm?” You wondered aloud.
You knew it’d be rude just to barge in uninvited, and usually, even when she was open for business, it was common courtesy to just knock.
That was when you almost fell on your ass from shock as the door suddenly opened before you.
“Oh, Anon, Darling!” She whipped her mane to the side. “Sorry for not coming sooner, I was just so absorbed in the designs I was crafting. Please, do forgive me.”
Readjusting yourself, you replied. “No problem at all. I didn’t want to, uh, just barge in without knocking and all. Figured that’d be pretty rude.”
She smiled mirthfully. “My my, I appreciate that greatly. Do come in, I could use the company, actually.”
Following shortly behind her, you both made your way into the boutique. The place was actually, much like your own place, was littered with papers crumpled and tossed haphazardly across the flow. It only served to remind you how lazy you were not to clean your mess before making your way out the door.
“So, uh, what exactly have you been working on anyway?” You asked, trying to push your mind away from the mess around you.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry for the mess, I was a bit preoccupied, as you can see. Come this way, I have the proper papers on this side of the room.” She hummed as she trotted, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it.
Unlike you, despite the obvious failures strewn across the room, she kept up a positive attitude. It was admirable, and yet again it made you feel even worse about your own mental battle against self-improvement.
You didn’t even notice that she was now holding up an image to your face, clearly proud of what was drawn across the page. Shaking your head a bit, you snapped back to reality. “Huh, wha? Oh, sorry. I was just kinda lost there. What have we here?”
You plucked the page from her magical grasp, getting a closer look at the drawing. It was, well, simply amazing. Like, you couldn’t even begin to imagine the hard work and talent that went into crafting what you were laying your eyes on. It was a dress, and you were not too knowledgeable on the subject of dresses, but the way the design flowed with the body was sleak, but not too barren of detail. It looked both comfy, but not too practical. It was hard to put into words, really, but it simply blended together in such a way that you couldn’t help but be stuck in a state of awe as you gazed upon it.
“So… What do you think, Anon?” Rarity prodded you for a response.
Her words brought you away from the picture and to reality. You really had a hard time staying in reality. “Sorry, it was just. Wow. Like. I, how in the world can you even make something like this from your head. Like, I imagine you reference life and other designs, but how in the, and excuse my French, make something so Goddamn good?!”
She looked a bit off set by your question. “Well, I… I appreciate the compliment Anon, dear, but whatever do you mean? I simply just had the spark of inspiration and got to work. You know how it is, you make art of your own, though of a different kind. I’m sure the process is mostly the same, really.”
You shook your head. “No. I can not even begin to imagine the talent behind something like this. I don’t want to sound like a suck up right now, but listen, I’m saying this from a genuine place right now. I am a really bad artist, and I’ve spent all day busting my ass against the wall to get something I could consider progress done.”
“Anon, if I may?” She asked, but you simply carried on.
“Ah ah ah! Let me continue. I, just like you, have my entire work, slash, art room littered with failure. Yet, despite that, how can you stay so positive. What’s your secret. I want to know, I just want to know how I can get to where I want to be. I’ve been at this for so long, yet I still feel like a kid, an amateur, in the grand scheme of things.”
You groaned in frustration. “Sorry, Rarity. I didn’t want to come off like that. I just… I’m just so tired of hitting myself against a wall only to be left disappointed in myself…”
“Anon.” She raised your chin using her magic. “I want you to not interrupt me this time, that was rude.”
“Sorry…”
“Forgiven. Now, I’m going to try my best to answer the core of your issue here. I know exactly where you are coming from.”
Those words made you feel slightly more hopeful, eager to hear what she had to say on the matter.
“The truth of the matter is, I too, even after having success of my own, still struggle with my own inspiration. The mess you see before you is nothing but frustration, and it’s there because it is not something I can consider myself proud of. Much like you, I’m a perfectionist.”
She magicked a few of them over to you, unfurling them showing you exactly what they were. And she had a point, they were indeed not nearly as good as the work of hers you saw earlier. They were sloppier, as if they were done by a completely different hand, er, hoof, but the same sort of style was there. It was clearly Rarity’s work, but not that of which you’ve seen before.
“There is more to an artist than what they choose to share with others. Failure is part of the craft, and learning to accept that is vital if you want to make any sort of substantial progress. Become one with it, darling.”
She crumpled the designs once more, and tossed them to the side.
“Not only that, but you must stop obsessing over others strengths in the way that you are now. While I’m flattered by the enthusiasm over my work, I do believe you put too much weight on how well my work comes out. You may not see it, but me and others do. You’re doing a fantastic job, but you are in a great need of a break.”
You were about to interject, but she cut you off.
“Nope. I’m still talking. Yes, Anon. You need a break. No matter how many times you hit yourself against that metaphorical wall, if you don’t take time to relax and reflect on what you’ve learned in the process, then you are only going to burn yourself out. And trust me, darling. Burnout is the last thing you will ever want.”
You took a moment to process her words, wanting to speak, but nothing came out.
“It’s okay, Anon. I don’t expect some profound response of your own foolish self-discovery. I just want to help a fellow artist and friend.”
For once that day, you were starting to feel pretty okay about yourself. “Thanks, Rarity. I think I needed that kick in the ass.”
“Also, one other thing.”
You raised a brow. “Oh?”
“Would you please stop being so crass. These are work hours, after all.” She winked, before making her way over to the pile of crumpled up papers. She grabbed them within her magic psychokinesis, bringing them over to a trash bin, and disposing of them.
You rubbed the back of your head. “Hehe. Sorry…”
“Forgiven again. Though, it is getting rather late. What say I whip us up some sandwiches and something to drink?”
Your stomach growled, and you found yourself blushing in embarrassment.
“I take that as a yes.”
“You don’t have to, Rarity.”
“No, I insist, Anon. You are my guest, not a customer, it’s the least I can do. And as I said earlier, I could use the company.” She winked once again.
You were a bit unsure what that could have meant, but you were glad to have a friend like her. Her words, they meant a lot to you, more than sure probably realized. There is an ebb and flow to art of any kind, you thought. One where, as much as you fought to improve upon yourself, there was a place where you’d have to take a step back and refuel your mind with some inspiration and advice from others.
You still had a long life of improvement ahead, but you were stubborn, and you were prepared to face the challenges ahead. It was a weight you carried with pride. Plus, if you were lucky, you’d get more nice company and sandwiches out of your labor.
Author's Note
I was real bent out of shape the other day. I was frustrated beyond holy hell over my art, writing, so on. I worked ten days in a row, the last was a call in, and I managed five stories. I should feel pride in that, I actually kinda do, but for that moment in time I was upset with myself.
I felt as if what I've wrote, what I worked so hard on, was just plain, boring, and to be harsh, crap. Same for art. I don't post much of it, but I have been drawing much, much longer than I've been writing. I push hard with that as much as I write. I spend hours and hours of my limited free time just trying to learn and get better. Yet, after hitting that tablet so many times this past month, I still felt like I only took the step that size of an inch.
It's been disheartening, but I keep trying, I keep pushing, because I honestly enjoy it, it's just some times it gets to me, and I feel so bad over what I make that it almost becomes overwhelming. I always stand tall afterwords, but the point being is that this story is a manifestation of that problem I faced and still do face.
Thanks again to those who gave me very much needed advice on my blog "Hurdles of Art And Mind." You inspired this story more than anything else. You're all people I'm very much thankful for.
I hope y'all enjoyed this short story. I enjoyed making it.
Tis unedited once more, so if there is any boo boos in my prose, please let me know. They shall be fixed pronto!
