Bohemianne
Verified
- Joined
- May 11, 2007
- Messages
- 8,238
- Points
- 48
Written by: AnnoXanti
What is the world behind drawing/producing tickling arts?
In the mainstream society, tickling is not phenomenal. The idea that it could be sexual would be weird or may not exist. And yet there is a small dominion where tickling is significant and selected artists propagate its inner expression.
So the blah goes on. Pardon me because the use of “I” will begin…
I may not wish to unlearn that I did tickling arts because it is now a stimulating part of my “small time” history. No amount of ethical white-collar job can give butterflies in the stomach the way this sideline can. Yet I fancy to be able appreciate arts from virtual galleries innocently, drool over the output without knowing the bloody struggle behind the drawing table before one publication is released. It’s because I have touched every pages and felt how strokes take tint from pencils, inks or digital blots, while the rest extracts some fragments of my abstract being.
Tickling arts…they came from the sweat of these driven, optimistic, (maybe) sleepless and starry-eyed artists…never mind if they are metaphorically miserable at times.
While there is only a small place where these arts get consumed, an artist draws at his/her own preference in exchange of warm feedbacks or earned cents. Ah! Earning from tickling arts is just a consequence…but it’s nothing! Do you think it bought me a new house already? Ladies, and gentlemen, it’s like a dim road not taken. It is the journey that matters.
So I walked into its hideous alleys. The templates for its anatomy loomed like constant formula, but the surprises never fail me. Behind or ahead of me are like-minded people who pilot their own journey into it as well.
…Because drawing this genre of art had some form of bullshit that takes shape beautifully as time passes by. It is like an elusive but voluptuous creature you want to rape and smash into subatomic pieces to extract the priceless worth within. But the violence of the mind is transmuted into creations. It keeps on slipping, yet leaving behind an unspoken reward. Every good and bad consequence is worth living like Jekyll and Hyde. It’s been painstaking to nurture the cocoon, just to have a seat right next to the art. “Hobbiz” as I call it, is the subtle process of endless strife to improve—the system out of passion.
Ah…the shameless beginnings to let the guts reach the surface to breathe...to brand a work and share/sell them with full courage, behind a sunken identity...no matter how it bares bouts of non-existing inhibition at times, or mostly blushes from honey-dipped praises. Every cent carted for each piece had paid for the process the artist has undergone to finish the work. That when you buy the art, you also take a piece of artist’s heart that goes with it… But sadly, if a buyer dwells only on the amount paid, then the art’s worth is concluded by the sum alone.
It takes a lot of pain and gain in this surprisingly “unholy” creative war. It’s simply a battle to give shape to something out of blank sheets of paper…and to share it. No matter how I explain, unless you witness “the making” or sit with me for some weeks, the beautiful backstage will always be the hidden part of the show…
I am beginning to believe that every work, vulgar or not that passes the hands of artists, are sensibilities laid behind each lines and colors. And this is shed to communicate the depicted expression, the turmoil within, without exception but coming from the heart, in any intent. To give life to some aggressive fantasies that can’t necessarily happen in real life… But once publicly released, the value will all be in the hands of the viewers, merciless and forgiving they may be. It will always be a make or break. So be it.
So I continue to dive into the bizarre abyss of tickling art. And if one day I’m gone, it means my energies have just been redirected somewhere…but the humble art will remain. And it’s truly an honor if they remain undeleted in your local drives.
In silence, in between mediocrity and endless aspiration to gasp the already saturated air, beyond shallow or bottomless interactions just to taste a speck of earth and derive priceless inspiration, I’m often left with only this mind to console:
“Never let the inspiration die; never expect a “swim back”; divert swiftly into many places; find alternatives; never get lazy; never ever let misjudgment ruin it…find worth in it; and lastly, never ever break the passion for ART…”
Nota bene: ...dedicated to those who love tickling arts and to those who made my journey worthwhile…
What is the world behind drawing/producing tickling arts?
In the mainstream society, tickling is not phenomenal. The idea that it could be sexual would be weird or may not exist. And yet there is a small dominion where tickling is significant and selected artists propagate its inner expression.
So the blah goes on. Pardon me because the use of “I” will begin…
I may not wish to unlearn that I did tickling arts because it is now a stimulating part of my “small time” history. No amount of ethical white-collar job can give butterflies in the stomach the way this sideline can. Yet I fancy to be able appreciate arts from virtual galleries innocently, drool over the output without knowing the bloody struggle behind the drawing table before one publication is released. It’s because I have touched every pages and felt how strokes take tint from pencils, inks or digital blots, while the rest extracts some fragments of my abstract being.
Tickling arts…they came from the sweat of these driven, optimistic, (maybe) sleepless and starry-eyed artists…never mind if they are metaphorically miserable at times.
While there is only a small place where these arts get consumed, an artist draws at his/her own preference in exchange of warm feedbacks or earned cents. Ah! Earning from tickling arts is just a consequence…but it’s nothing! Do you think it bought me a new house already? Ladies, and gentlemen, it’s like a dim road not taken. It is the journey that matters.
So I walked into its hideous alleys. The templates for its anatomy loomed like constant formula, but the surprises never fail me. Behind or ahead of me are like-minded people who pilot their own journey into it as well.
…Because drawing this genre of art had some form of bullshit that takes shape beautifully as time passes by. It is like an elusive but voluptuous creature you want to rape and smash into subatomic pieces to extract the priceless worth within. But the violence of the mind is transmuted into creations. It keeps on slipping, yet leaving behind an unspoken reward. Every good and bad consequence is worth living like Jekyll and Hyde. It’s been painstaking to nurture the cocoon, just to have a seat right next to the art. “Hobbiz” as I call it, is the subtle process of endless strife to improve—the system out of passion.
Ah…the shameless beginnings to let the guts reach the surface to breathe...to brand a work and share/sell them with full courage, behind a sunken identity...no matter how it bares bouts of non-existing inhibition at times, or mostly blushes from honey-dipped praises. Every cent carted for each piece had paid for the process the artist has undergone to finish the work. That when you buy the art, you also take a piece of artist’s heart that goes with it… But sadly, if a buyer dwells only on the amount paid, then the art’s worth is concluded by the sum alone.
It takes a lot of pain and gain in this surprisingly “unholy” creative war. It’s simply a battle to give shape to something out of blank sheets of paper…and to share it. No matter how I explain, unless you witness “the making” or sit with me for some weeks, the beautiful backstage will always be the hidden part of the show…
I am beginning to believe that every work, vulgar or not that passes the hands of artists, are sensibilities laid behind each lines and colors. And this is shed to communicate the depicted expression, the turmoil within, without exception but coming from the heart, in any intent. To give life to some aggressive fantasies that can’t necessarily happen in real life… But once publicly released, the value will all be in the hands of the viewers, merciless and forgiving they may be. It will always be a make or break. So be it.
So I continue to dive into the bizarre abyss of tickling art. And if one day I’m gone, it means my energies have just been redirected somewhere…but the humble art will remain. And it’s truly an honor if they remain undeleted in your local drives.
In silence, in between mediocrity and endless aspiration to gasp the already saturated air, beyond shallow or bottomless interactions just to taste a speck of earth and derive priceless inspiration, I’m often left with only this mind to console:
“Never let the inspiration die; never expect a “swim back”; divert swiftly into many places; find alternatives; never get lazy; never ever let misjudgment ruin it…find worth in it; and lastly, never ever break the passion for ART…”
-o0o-
Nota bene: ...dedicated to those who love tickling arts and to those who made my journey worthwhile…
