NO CRAPPIN' WAY

IT'S OVER. IT'S OVER, AND ALL I CAN DO IS EAT MORE CREAM TO TRY TO FILL IN THE GAPING CHASM THAT IS MY SOUL WITH SOMETHING OTHER THAN HEARTBREAK AND SORROW.

Yeah, camp ended. I can finally relate to those summer camp stories I heard on This American Life. While art camp didn't have any long lived traditions that went back for decades, we still created our own traditions and our own memes and our own world. Every thing about camp is so intense because it's so short, so you try and become as close as you can to your new friends. I think it's all the more beautiful because your camp friends are the new best friends that you almost know. Any more time and everyone would learn who everyone really was. Still, there are several people who I WANT to to really know, and want to stay in touch with.

I cried. It's not just the ending of camp and the separation anxiety, but also the feeling that now that I'm out of camp there's no turning back from my inevitable adult life and my new responsibilities, and new pressures not to be a kid anymore. And now that I'm away from art camp, I increasingly wonder if I'll really be able to go back to art school and actually, maybe, learn skills to make a living. With art. College time at Eastern is creeping up closer and closer, and I'm wondering if, should I decide to transfer, I'll be able to keep some of Eastern's scholarship money, or if upon leaving they'll ask for me to pay everything back.

I've never fully considered going into art as a real possibility, but going to art camp made it seem slightly less unlikely.

I've always known that I'm super critical of myself, but the gallery show made me feel... empty? Disappointed in myself? I tried to gauge my parents' reactions, and couldn't tell if they were entirely pleased with my stuff. My parents' opinions are painfully important to me; I'm almost never sure of myself, and it helps when I have some good feed back and guidance. I doubt my parents are disappointed; in fact, I'm pretty sure they aren't, but my own worries and insecurities taint my perception so much sometimes that I doubt everything I see and hear.

I liked all of my teachers; however, there were only a couple whose opinions I could trust. Meaning, some of them were so nice to everyone that they wouldn't give more harsh criticisms. The only teachers who I thought genuinely thought I was any good were my animation and figure drawing teachers. I can't make a decent looking finished piece for beans, but apparently I'm good at gesture drawing. And the animation teacher did actually seem to like my work.

GOSH DARNIT, WHY ARE YOU SO INSECURE. AND WHY DOES IT MATTER WHETHER OR NOT SOMEONE LIKES YOUR WORK. Because it means everything.

I dunno. I wish final critiques had been more in depth. We were critiqued in front of each other, so no one could say anything too harsh. I would have felt better knowing what people really thought rather than having to guess everything.

Of course, what's more important is what I learned... value grouping. Repetition. Command-z. Even if everything I made at camp wasn't stellar, I'll be able to take what I've learned and make something better.

One small consolation of being back home? I get to listen to Wiretap again. Hot box.