Artists always have something to prove.

Objective Statements, Revisited.

They say (and by they, I mean me) the best way to motivate yourself to do a difficult task is to have a solid reason for doing it. Also known as your “why”.

Once again, I’ve been mulling over why I animate. What’s the point?

In the past, I would have been able to give a multitude of reasons, with certainty:

1. “Because my stories need to be told.”
2. “Because I’ve already sacrificed so much.”
3. “Because people are counting on me!”
4. “Because I made a promise to myself!”

But lately, these kind of statements haven’t kindled a fire within me. I could present a logical counter-argument to each and every one of them:

1. “But you can’t tell all of your stories. You’re always coming up with new ones. On your deathbed, you’ll have several left to tell. Ideas are a dime a dozen.”
2. “Sunk cost fallacy. Just because you spent a lot of time making a mistake doesn’t mean you have to follow through with it.”
3. “You do not owe anything to the people anymore than they owe you anything. Plus, you should focus on expressing yourself instead of trying to impress others.”
4. “You only promised to give it your best shot. You are allowed to change your plans if the situation changes.”

Though, it’s not like I’m having a formal debate in my head. They are more like split-second thoughts, resulting in hesitation to get to work. Regardless, these counter-arguments exist, and present strong, valid points.

In the end, whenever I try to hype up myself to do art, I don’t feel the need to do it.

And with that in mind, if you don’t feel the need to do it, why do it?

So once in awhile, I like to give myself a headache and get to the bottom of that question.

Hopefully you don’t get a headache from my musings.

Prove It

What’s the point of art? I say, to show proof!

A clever idea by itself cannot satisfy an artist, let alone an audience. We need proof of the idea. We need proof that the amazing story, or experience we have in mind is actually amazing, and not wishful thinking.

Visible, tangible, evidence of my idea is what I want. Show me the goods!  Something cannot be remarkable, if it cannot be remarked on. Nobody believes “I can get a good job and raise a family” and just happily sits on that idea until they die. They must manifest that idea. As proof, for their own sake.

This is incredibly important to artists. Because even seeing one’s work come together is enough to bring intense self-satisfaction. A completed drawing says “Look, proof! The idea realized!”

So in a way, artists strive to show proof of their ideas, whether it’s through music, literature, animation, or whatever. They mostly want to prove it to themselves, but they are more than happy to see others validate and accept their art.

Awesome Work

I’d love to think of myself as a humble, non-egotistical creator. It’s how I’ve presented Gildedguy (so far), and how I conduct myself with others.

The truth is, I’m pretty competitive! If I’m on top of my game, I want to stay on top! Which is easy, since the hard work of getting on top is already done. The feeling of being on top dissipates quickly though. Sure, I’ve risen above my old skill level, but now I must compare myself to a whole new standard.

If my work isn’t as good as my colleagues’, I want to get ahead. Getting ahead is fun, because seeing yourself progress and hit milestones is a great feeling. You’d be surprised how much I’ve analyzed others’ art to pick apart what they’re doing and how I can do it better. There is a crazy amount of talent out there in the world. Creative people, all who are similar to me. Same age group, same interests, same skills.

But once in awhile, I come across someone’s masterpiece. Like, something that blows all expectations out of the water. Something that is genuinely exciting, enjoyable, and respected. Awe-inspiring work. “True art.”

And since it was made by someone similar to me, something very petty happens.

I feel like crap!

My Master-proof

That other guy’s masterpiece is going to make my piece look bad in comparison. Hell, it might not even be that guy’s masterpiece, it might be a “fun little project”!

I feel like crap not because I am crap.

I feel like crap because now I have to work harder. My piece has to be so compelling, so unique, that it outweigh’s that other guy’s masterpiece. And that’s a butt-load of work.

That’s why my masterpiece is more like a master-proof. I am trying to prove that:

“I can create an inspirational series about competitive gaming. Something that’ll get people’s hearts pumping in sync’ with the playlist of songs I set aside just for this project. Something worthy of critical acclaim. Something that’ll make me and my collaborators famous around the world.”

Notice some ego in there? I notice it too, and that’s why I have to write it out.

Pretending like I don’t want glory won’t make the desire go away.

The Most Dangerous and Powerful Idea of them All

I grew up with the rise of rich web content, and I loved getting immersed in other peoples’ online creations. Naturally, I started following my favorite artists.

Unlike a boring textbook autobiography, I can read online artists’ posts and opinions, in real time.

And it was always harrowing to see an artist, drop off the face of the map, in real time. They would be producing great stuff (for years) and rather suddenly, make a goodbye post, and disappear.

I’ve always been curious about this. Why do people do this? I’m sure there are dozens of plausible reasons. Life goals, money, lack of passion. But ultimately, I think it’s because they didn’t have anything left to prove. And not just any ol’ thing. The most important thing!

Specifically, they didn’t want to prove themselves anymore.

When a champion boxer retires, and refuses to defend his title, he is basically saying: “I’m done. I don’t have to prove myself anymore.” And then they walk away from boxing forever. Unless you’re Rocky Balboa or something.

But that’s why, of all the creative ideas an artist could come up with, of all the great stories and beautiful pieces, the most powerfully dangerous idea is:

“I (me) am better than my surroundings (them).”

I’m willing to bet that a lot of peoples’ art is meant to provide proof of this ego-serving idea. It’s a dark thought. Giving up on this idea would explain why artists would stop making content. They get tired of the climb, the work itself is no fun. All of their art becomes a useless attempt at proving the un-provable. Or maybe they are immensely wise by exiting the art-rat-race altogether.

In the end, what’s the point if you have nothing to prove? There is no point. So they exit the scene. It makes sense.

The rest of us trying to “make it” must wrestle with this hidden motivation, because we can’t really escape it.

Proving Oneself Counter-productively: “I must prove that I am better than my peers. I will hide this motivation behind the scenes, because I don’t want to look insecure.”

My Aspiration

In my previous post on art envy, I provided a couple of tips that can alleviate the symptoms.

But time after time, I kept getting hit by envy. Especially as my standards rose.

People’s high expectations of your work rub off on you.

Most recently, I’ve been hearing about a game called Doki Doki Literature Club, which I finally played the other week. Don’t let its looks deceive you: it’s a brilliant interactive novel that goes meta in all the right places. It has a perfect amount of suspense, character appeal, clever dialogue, and heart that a unique piece should have. It executes the “persistent-multiple-play through” mechanic that was so impactful in Undertale super well. Although it’s free, the game has gone viral and is supremely popular nowadays, and is likely to be enjoyed by millions.

Well, I got envious not only because DDLC achieves similar goals to my Smash Bros series, but also because it was developed by a prominent Smash community member (Dan Salvato), who has released a ton of great work.

Seems like there are some people who just output more and better stuff than you possibly could.

Petty, petty, petty. I know! It really shouldn’t affect me, but it did.

Comparing yourself to those far above your skill level. Feels like being the little guy.

…

Wait.

Aren’t I writing an underdog story?

And at the core of every such story is the need to prove oneself. Turns out, envy is an underdog’s call to action:

Proving Oneself Productively: I must prove that I am better than my peers, and I’m going to do that by giving the people a damn good show. Because at the heart of that motivation is a need to rise above your surroundings, which is a need all people share. And everyone loves to see that proven.