nirvhannah's Mission Statement

*Just as a word of warning: this time of year, my depression likes to flare up and pull me down, so if my tone has been a little too self denigrating as of late, you know why. I don't have seasonal adaptation disorder because it also happens in the summer. My guess is it's probably all the Christmas-y jabberwocky, but I can't say for sure. On top of that, aside from Chris and everyone in the Ten Commandos, this year was an absolute shit fest.

But all things aside...

When I was in elementary school, I would draw.

I found some regular old printer paper and used that as my drawing surface because even at a young age, I was a compulsive doodler and a people pleaser. I had difficulty asking for what I want despite being told to speak up. I still have trouble to this day because I always expect an answer like “what?? you want DRAWING PAPER??? LOLOLOLOL”, or met with something of the like. Hence the internal response, “well, you told me to speak up, so I did. What were you expecting?”

However drawing from a young age was still a way to express myself, even with printer paper and a regular No. 2 pencil. Everything I put down on paper I fabricated completely on the spot, and the stories behind said works were either inspired by a book I read or something I saw on TV. I would play outside until the streetlights came on either by myself or with the neighbor kids, and just let my imagination run wild.

The year 2000 introduced me to the dark side. In the first half of the first grade, I sensed goings on in the world from noticing hushed rumors buzzing about pertaining to “the end of the world” and a “nuclear holocaust”. Of course, Y2K never happened and the world contributed to their own hysteria only to appear foolish.

I can, however, clearly recall my perplexed emotions and feeling the surreal morose environment at school on September 11. I can confess to trying to accept the fact that anyone born after 1998 have no memory. I can readily admit 9/11 is the very reason why I refuse to hate any other human being, even when there are a lot of people in the world who make me want to punch a hole in the wall.

Seven months later, my dad fell ill with pneumonia which, because of the hysteria at the time, was hypothesized as anthrax; he survived after spending two weeks in the hospital, but the fact remains. A year later, my parents and I had to leave our home in Carson City for reasons I am forbidden to say to a town in the middle of nowhere in central California.

With the induction of the New Millennium, I grew increasingly introspective and somber, nihilistic even. In retrospect, I would catch myself thinking these strange, almost existential thoughts, for example... what if the world ends tomorrow and yet I haven't even felt true love, or experienced the world at large, or lived out my purpose in life.

I managed to maintain my sense of humor, but this shadowy side within me from when I was about six years old slowly developed and progressed, and no one really knew about this side of me until after my parents split up in the tail end of my senior year. I not only was unaware of my shadow and even if I was aware, I am a people pleaser, scared shitless of having a low opinion slapped onto me. In fact, I was always really anal on sharing my artwork or my writing with anybody for this reason.

Externally, I have a father whose intellect is very questionable (I hate to say it, but even now after he sobered up), and his siblings can't go two seconds without trash talking another human being and also relying on one another to make a decision, a mother who's more (there really is no other way to say it) “out there” than I am, and a brother who's a bit of a stick in the mud. Thus I grew up not only witnessing the morbid nature of the world but also feeling like an outcast in a big family of chatterboxes and shiny, happy people. (yes, that REM pun was intentional)

Of course I was going to keep my damn mouth shut and keep it to myself.

If I made note of any part it whatsoever, everyone would either helicopter over me or hate and alienate me and leave me alone with no backing. I held this side under wraps but I did what I did artistically because I felt the need to, I needed to itch that scratch inside me, and I could not find another way to express myself, even if no one saw my self expression. I carry this same attitude to this day.

The downside to this is I turned into an awkward overweight shrinking violet in middle school and then a devil-may-care wallflower worker bee in high school. I went with the flow. Sure, I showed some emotions but I wore a mask and made everyone think otherwise. I was lost, with very little definition of myself. I even forced myself into a field I grew to hate just to make my family happy.

***Not gonna lie: I sometimes feel as if when I entered this world, the gatekeeper said “okay, the whole world is going to want to annihilate you. Hard. To the point in which you hate yourself so much, you want to make an exit. To the point in which your given family is even going to turn against you by the time you actually begin to feel comfortable with yourself just to keep you from feeling. To the point in which you feel as if everything you do is bullshit and you should just exit already.”

However, the opportunity came in middle school when I improvised a style of cartooning that took me forever to define, but finally decided on this: black licorice flavored beings convoluted into a soup of manga (because I hung out with the otaku kids at the time), John Dilworth, Brett Helquist, Matt Groening, Dreamworks' animated movies, classic fairytales, and even Aesop's fables, treated as dolls and born under the stars because the first batch was brought forth at night.

Recently I simplified the description to “Candied Stardust”, which is also a style of painting I dappled with back in August to serve as a satire of an artist who basically stole my friends and took my Soundgarden fan club away from me, and was a bitch to me. Stylistically, the paintings is very similar to that artist, but it was a way of thumbing my nose at that person; my musical cartoons are “Superunknown Moonshine”.

Unfortunately, my initial primitive cartoons went AWOL after I relocated to south Oregon so I can't show them even if I wanted to.

I injected the “black licorice” venom one night and over the course of the next day in my freshmen year of college with a… mechanical pencil and a regular Bic pens.

Said it before, and I'll say it again, the Tim Burton style is purely coincidental

Again, I never intended anyone to see them because I'm a people pleaser and also a cactus.

*whistles; slowly.. walks... away...*

I have reached the point now where self-expression is the norm. 

I have to share. 

I have to show the world. 

Not sharing is my demise. 

Not sharing gives me depression and the scream roars out in the worst way possible. 

Not sharing brings an implosion unto myself. 

Not sharing is suicide.

This would explain why I never understood what is so glamorous about having a boring day job that you hate for the sake of having a half-assed paycheck to fall back on. Another reason is routines trigger my depression and my insomnia, and I have had IBS since I was eleven: strenuous work environments force me into a bathroom. I do not have a regular 9-to-5 job for the sake of my physical and mental health, and for the sake of my purpose in life, regardless of whether or not I make money. We also live in a different time, the New Millennium, a period in which you really don't have to work as hard thanks to advancing technology and the discovery of new fields (I'm not saying you should quit your job, I'm just giving my stance). We also live in a pathetic economy on the verge of collapse again. Thus I can say I don't see the point of losing sleep over finding a day job that I would probably hate and lose after a brief amount of time when I could be doing what I love.

Besides, I much prefer going to school. Despite only receiving my associate's in general art, I have officially declared myself a professional student as well as a professional artist because I want to get my MFA. I can play with my schedule to my liking, and I enjoy taking classes and learning new things, specifically if said things are artistic or humanities related. If science is involved, it's biology, or chemistry, or one of the earth sciences; I learned the hard way that physics is just not for me.

And besides, who said a job has to be dull and tedious? 

I want to know who said you have to do something you hate in order to live, because I want to tell them they're out of their minds and that common folk are fools for believing that. 

Of course, it is out of my control to do such a thing because I am not God, and not everyone will agree, and I have no idea how to find out where and when that trend started, but I can say your job can be fun. 

You can make it your life. 

You can actually love what you do!

Just ask these four guys.

Or them.

And who said your job has to be one thing and one thing only?

My drummer playing guitar? My drummer playing guitar.

I learned in my sophomore year of high school that I'm a visual, audial, and kinesthetic learner, or rather, I learn by utilizing all six of my senses. I'm an introverted socialite and an intuitive sensualist. I'm an ambivert and I use my senses and my intuition.

I deliver by the use of images. I express myself visually. I would have known much earlier on if I have an eidetic memory, but I do remember the sight of an event more than anything.

Hell, I learned how to build a formula car and how to weld by using my hands (both of which were the highlights from my stint in engineering school). I'm always itching to build something, to make something with my hands, whether said something is a six foot Tim Burton-style statue made of wood or just a figurine made of clay.

There's even an actress inside me, although my buttoned down exterior begs to differ. I was in show choir in first and second grade, but I honed in my singing voice in my freshman year of high school by trying to match my voice to Chris, Eddie, and Scott, and I slowly developed my own voice so I can say I'm a singer. It's funny, because for the longest time when I was younger, hearing people sing, off-key in particular, was a big turn off for me.

I can't explain, it just always irritated me like the dickens.

When that fateful day came, when I heard Outshined for the first time, and then Fell on Black Days, my attitude changed. I thought, “oh my God, I love this. I want this. This is mine. This is no one else's”—and thus sparked my obsessive tendencies.

But it's okay by me: it's all for my benefit. Thus I developed this Dave Grohl-esque complex of “where did all of the daring, multi-talented revolutionary artists run off to?!” I am unafraid to label myself a Renaissance woman or a Jill of all trades: the latter of which is a compliment in my view. And yet, I still feel restrained to express myself verbally. I still feel the need to please others than to please myself.

Just recently, I finally said “forget this, I am never giving my two cents on anything ever again if everyone's going to either a.) strike it down with a holier than thou attitude; b.) laugh at it like it's a joke; or c.) just not listen.” I gave into peer pressure: every time I open my mouth on Facebook, I'm just asking for a “no, that's not true” from someone or met with a full-blown argument (yes, that actually happened once). I also gave into familial pressure: I love my dad and my brother, but they're MCPs. Both of them. They don't listen to me, or any woman without "credentials" for that matter, and if I said the sky was blue, they would filibuster it.

You could say the reason for my struggles is from my being a white woman with dark hair and dark eyes. This could play a part (besides, I've grown to be more humanist than straight up feminist), but not the sole reason. I'm still caught up short in why I feel the need to please everyone other than myself.

Then again, the younger me expressed herself for herself and no one else. I even wrote this because I'm a people pleaser who is coming to terms with how she feels within.

I'll never lose my innocence for a second, though.

It's not just the darkness that keeps me going: it's the integrity of doing what I love.

I did not enter the art world to make money.

I did not embrace my seven-year-old self when I made my Soundgarden cartoons to say “the art world needs another pretentious fuck who will never actually get her talent out into the world because she has the duty of attending to a full-time job she actually hates and is never going to feel truly happy.” 

I did not do my art teacher in my later years of high school proud when I made the first drawing of Ben I want to personally give to him to have the world tell me what to do, what to feel, who to like, and how to express myself.

You know why?

Because that's what they want, and I have had my share of being their servant. That's why I'm posting this here because I'm done feeling afraid.

"We are Ten Commandos, people"