I was very sure what my life was going to be like. Some things changed or were discarded, the kind of changes that we all go through as time goes by and we move from child to teenage to adult.

As a child, I wanted to be an actor. That never changed, but there were artistic pursuits I wanted to do on the side as well. I wanted to draw, keeping a book of my favourite pieces, which I’ve shared on here before (see https://bloodyrosepetals.art.blog/2022/09/02/1997/).

Of course, as happens to most children who are outcasts as I was I imagine, other kids tore at my confidence with great zeal. I drew ‘stupid drawings’. I had my worst tormentor at secondary school mock a piece of performance art I did when I auditioned for the Caberat (she was nastily jealous I performed the entire three nights of the previous year’s show with a comedy act I did with friends while she only got one night due to so many people doing the same Spice Girls songs, and with so little else original on offer, they tried to be fair and give the better ones a night each to perform. In my opinion, my tormentor and her equally vile friends were tuneless and entirely without chrisma, but admittedly I can’t sing and the organisers were in a tough spot).

Art was the one subject at secondary I generally got encouraged in – even the bullies begrudgingly acknowledged my work as being decent enough. They also found my sketchbook once and left nasty graffiti attacking my appearance, but not my skills. I never noticed until just now actually. No way they wouldn’t have shit all over my work given the chance to, and this was an open goal to do so.

Writing. In primary school, I realised I could do something people enjoyed. I remember flushing with delight when a kid picked out a particularly vivid line I wrote. I was an outcast there too, so I was not used to such positive attention. For the first years, my writing was my best subject. I wanted so badly to be an actor, but the teachers invariably picked the popular kids for the school plays. I never thought to question this blatant favouritism – young children accept that adults “know better”.

Of course, now I see it as unfair. But now it also matters little. Other than the year I joined a local amdram group – lovely people known as the High Timers – I never achieved that dream. My dad intentionally sabotaged my time with the amateur group for reasons I will never understand. That was the point I gave up completely.

As an adult I’ve continued pursuing art and writing, with tiny successes here and there, but mostly with nothing of note achieved. During a meeting with my work and health team mentor he asked if I ever considered putting together an art show.

I absolutely have. I just have no idea if my work is good enough, if I have enough good work to even make such a show interesting to anyone. I wouldn’t know how to put such a thing together. But mostly, I’m scared of actually going forward with it and the entire thing being a terrible failure

The answer to my question, I suppose, is *doubt* happened. Mental illness also happened, but doubt truly derailed it all. One of my favourite photos, for instance, was dismissed as poorly composed and little more than a snapshot.

I can accept criticism – I recently joked around with someone who found a drawing I had done unintentionally creepy, which I admitted was accurate and it was a funny observation – but the picture in question, which you can see below, which I do agree is not the best composed, is hardly a snapshot in my opinion.

I know I’m not the only one who never achieved what they dreamed of doing. So many of us don’t. But I feel things also could have been different had I received more encouragement instead of my father’s disinterested shrugging, or the teacher I have talked about under pseudonym the Mr. Bell on my blog before, who seemed to regard everything I did as garbage because he didn’t like me. Or my secondary school English teacher who also considered my work “okay” at best for reasons that were never clear to me – how could I improve if I had no idea what exactly wasn’t working?

Or to use a more recent example, the picture that was dismissed as a snapshot. I just don’t see how they came to that conclusion. I can accept that perhaps the composition could’ve been much better, but I had no tripod at the time, and no other way to shoot the photograph.

That’s something they never tell you until college – arts of all kinds are filled with equipment that is ridiculously expensive. I made a post somewhere detailing good brands that were easier on the budget. I’d like to repost it here some day soon. Hopefully it’ll be of use to some of you.