The Artist's Trash Heap

[WrathofaShardKitten]

For all of the art you hate, including visual arts, writing, poetry, music, and so on.

Because perfectionism isn't everything, so post it anyways.

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I don't know about you, but I am not an artist. I would like to be an artist. However, whenever I try to start, I get set upon by the vicious harpies of perfectionism and self doubt. I can't see the value in what I've done. To me, it looks more or less like trash. Hence the title. And, since all that I seem to be turning out is trash, I quickly get discouraged, and, well. . . quit. I'll actually shred, delete, erase, or otherwise destroy whatever it was that I've made, because it's not. . . good enough.

Which is dumb. Failure isn't something to be ashamed of, it's not the end of the story, it's a fundamental concept of life and a way to measure our improvement. This thread, as stated above, is for people to post all the art they hate. It's for the stuff you'd throw away because it isn't good enough and there's no place for it. This thread is a reminder that falling short is, or at least should be, both expected and supported, because it means that you're making progress. What's the most important step someone can take? I'll give you a hint. It's not the perfect one.

All too often, those interested in the arts give up because they aren't "naturally gifted." This thread is to encourage them to keep on going, because it might not be perfect, but you're doing it. You're creating!

Even those who have been creating for a long time can fall into this chasm. People can make things that just don't turn out right. Or maybe the art is fine, but suddenly imposter syndrome is kicking in and you feel like nothing you make could ever compare.

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I have a tendency to ramble a lot, as you can likely see. I also don't know how to create threads, so if anyone has any advice that would be appreciated.

The point is, if you made something that you don't like or doesn't seem to live up to whatever standards you have, post it here.

Criticism, unless specifically asked for, is not allowed.

Compliments can also be a weird one here. If you feel like receiving a compliment on the work you did would only cause you to doubt the honesty of humankind, let people know at the top of your post that you don't want compliments either.

Obviously, follow forum rules. Other than that, I think we're good?

[Mage]

Huh. This is an interesting idea. Honestly, it would be nice to have a place to post garbage stuff that I've written.

Here is the first little bit of a sci-fi story I tried writing a few years ago.

Spoiler

He opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he thought. He sat up. He was on a cold, gray metal bench fastened to the wall, two feet off the floor.

He rotated himself and put his feet down to the ground and took in his surroundings. Straight ahead there was a door. The rest of the room was a barren metal box except on the right side there was a window made of one-way glass. He couldn’t see through but he knew someone was watching him.

“Who am I?” he thought. He couldn’t remember. Then two thoughts came into his head. Jacob and The Vortex. “Jacob,” he thought, “My name is Jacob.” He said it out loud, “My name is Jacob.”

Jacob wasn’t satisfied with his name only. A sudden desire welled up inside of him to know his past. He wanted to know more. The first step was escaping.

Jacob was wearing a grey jumpsuit which at the top right corner said, “VESPUCCI.” In the chest pocket, there was a piece of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a set of blueprints for a shrinkable subatomic spaceship. It was the only clue to his past.

He returned the blueprints to his pocket then looked down at his hands. They looked worn and wrinkled. He reached up and felt the top of his head. He had very little hair. Jacob estimated his age to be around 70. He couldn’t remember anything else about himself, but he would find out.

Jacob racked his brain for more, and then another brief memory flashed into his head. “The Vortex.” Something about it being in danger… What if the scientists, or whoever was incarcerating him was going to attack the vortex, and harness, or harvest whatever it contained. He didn’t know why he cared or where the vortex was, but he knew he had to get there before it was attacked. After he escaped he would go to the vortex, wherever it was.

Jacob stood up only to realize that his ankles were magnetically chained to the floor beside the bench. There had to be some reason he was here. There were needles in his arm and vortices of the scale he was thinking only occurred in space...”I must be here for experimentation on a spaceship,” he deduced. 

He hoped that they were testing him for mutations. He could escape much easier if he had some sort of genetic anomaly that allowed him to do superhuman things. Jacob didn’t know the nature of these mutations if he even had them, but to escape he would have to find out. He decided to try different random things one by one.

He first tried reshaping his body. He felt the cold metal bench and just tried to melt into it. He felt something rushing by him. He opened his eyes. There wasn’t anything or anyone else in his cell. He looked down. Jacob was stuck inside the bench. He must have teleported.

Jacob tried to teleport again. He focused on the door. He mentally pulled himself toward it. He felt the rushing sensation as he flew through space-time, then he was beside the door. It worked. He heard an alarm go off in the room separated from his by the glass. He knew the scientists in there would be in his cell any second now.

Jacob didn’t know what the main deck of this ship looked like so trying to teleport could be dangerous, but this was his only option. He imagined the deck. He pulled himself in what he imagined the general direction of it was. 

He rushed downward and found himself in a steamy room. In front of him, there was a glass door that was clouded with fog. Jacob turned around. Behind him, there was a swimming pool full of blue water. “A swimming pool?” he thought, “why would there be a swimming pool on an experimentation ship.” He thought for a second. This wasn’t an experimentation ship. It was a passenger ship. Whatever was going on in this ship must not be sanctioned. Jacob realized that getting to the vortex first could save a whole planet or even a solar system. He found the door and went out.

The hallway was dimly lit and silent. He heard no alarm. Jacob crept down the hall while straining his eyes for a sign that could direct him to the engine room. After many turns, he saw a light source. He sped up his pace, but couldn’t quite run because the teleporting had exhausted him. At the end of the hallway, there was a window overlooking the main deck of the ship.

Down below him, there was a large artificial green park containing several ponds. On the perimeter of the large main room, there were service stations. Some were food stops; others were outdoor equipment rentals. Jacob looked up. Above the deck, there was a window looking out into the vastness of space.

Jacob looked down again at the crowds of people on the main level of the deck. He needed to find the engine room. His plan was to throw the whole ship into chaos by disabling the artificial gravity machine and escaping in an escape pod. When in the escape pod he would find the vortex and warn its inhabitants.

Jacob focused on the center of the park. The air rushed past him as he flew through the space-time tunnel. When he reached the end he was in between two fountains on a large concrete area. To his left, there was a basketball court where three humanoid droids took on four teenage boys.

“Basketball was invented 331 years ago in 1891 by Doctor James Naismith,” explained a humanoid teacher to a group of about eight people who were half listening, half watching the basketball game which had gone into overtime. Jacob did some quick adding to discover that it was the year 2222.

Jacob looked for more of these robotic teachers hoping that one of them would be talking about the history of the ship or teaching people about the layout. He went over to an electronic map and started clicking on rooms. Each time Jacob touched a room it displayed its name, function, and directions to get there, but there were only rooms passengers would need use.

At the opposite edge of the main deck, three scientist wearing white lab coats and four men with guns wearing grey jumpsuits like Jacob’s came through a swinging door. The guards started spreading around the room. He knew the scientist had discovered that he wasn’t in the prison section and came up to the main passenger section. He started to run as fast as he could on his old legs for the door. One of the guards recognized him and started pursuing.

“You there, stop,” yelled the one who was nearest to him. Jacob kept running until he rounded a corner and the guard was out of sight. He leaned against the wall to take a breath, then got ready for the guard to come.

The guard came around the corner farther from Jacob then he had expected. Jacob lunged at the guard. As they were going down the guard tried to fire a shot but missed. Jacob had him pinned then brought one of his bony elbows down on the top of his head. He felt bad but knew it was necessary to discover his past.

Jacob knew he only had a few moments before the other guards got there so he pulled off the unconscious guard’s computerized goggles. Jacob started running again down the hall, then put the goggles on. They were running a facial recognition program. He felt like he had used the goggles before. He tapped the edge to turn off the program and then opened the map program. He rounded another corner Something was slowing the computer down but after a few seconds it came up. 

Jacob heard shouts further back in the hallway. After a few minutes of searching on the screen, he found the engine room. He turned off into a smaller hallway, then went left, then right then left again. He had found the engine room. Jacob was exhausted. He tiredly pushed the palm scan plate to opened the door hoping that something would happen, and to his surprise, it turned green. He was somehow connected to this ship.

A password came up. His palm print was in the system, but he didn’t remember a password. He heard the shouts of the guards again. Seconds later two guards came around the corner.

“Come with us back to your cell and you won’t be harmed,” stated the first guard.

“Or we can do this the hard way,” said the other.

Jacob saw them set their guns to preserve. An image flashed into his head of someone being shot with an eerily blue substance, then freezing over with a similar colored ice. They weren’t going to stun or knock him out. They were going to shoot a glob of preserving chemicals at him. It would kill him but he would be perfectly preserved for testing.

“What if I refuse,” Jacob asked.

“Then we will be forced to stun you,” the guard lied.

Jacob teleported behind the guards and grabbed one of their guns.

“Hey,” he yelled. Both of the guards turned around.

Jacob twisted the dial on the gun until the arrow pointed at "blast". He fired at the guard with the gun. A direct hit in the chest. He had killed him, but he told himself that it was necessary to discover his identity... and save the vortex.

When the guard hit the ground his gun misfired. A glob of blue glowing gel flew toward Jacob. He dodged to the side, but it still hit his left shoulder.

Jacob fell to the ground in pain as his arm froze over with a preserving Ice. the other guard pinned him down and tried to get the gun out of Jacob’s frozen arm. Jacob struggled to get the guard off of him but couldn’t with only one usable arm. The guard had pried three of Jacob’s preserved fingers off of the handle of the weapon, so Jacob reached over to the gun with his good arm and pulled the trigger, blasting the guard in the shoulder.

The guard fell back. Jacob slowly got up, then hit the guard over the head with his gun. He walked over to the door, pointed the gun at the keypad and blasted it. The door immediately shot up. Jacob ran in. With the goggles on and running a technician program it only took a few seconds to locate the gravity master switch. He ran over and pulled the switch. Nothing happened. He looked down to see that there was a button by his feet he needed to press. He was bending down to push it when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Freeze, drop your weapon and put your hands up,” more guards had arrived. Jacob put his gun on the ground and slid it to the guards. One of them bent down and picked it up. Jacob labored to stand up and then put his good arm above his head.

“Both hands,” the guard in front demanded.

“Sorry, one of your other guards froze it,” Jacob calmly replied. The guards cautiously approached. Jacob then kicked back with his foot and hit the button.

The guards obviously had no zero gravity training. They were frantically swimming in place trying to go somewhere, but couldn’t. All of them had dropped their guns and they floated in Jacob’s direction. He pushed off of the nearest wall toward the guns and grabbed them all. He put all but one of them in a cabinet where they wouldn’t float around. He set the remaining gun to stun and one by one knocked out each of the guards. Jacob couldn’t remember it but he knew he was experienced in zero gravity.

Jacob jumped his way to the main deck which was complete chaos. People were floating around and screaming. Furniture and plants were everywhere. Jacob checked his pocket for the plans. They were still secure. Then he located the lifeboat bay with the goggles. He crouched deeply against the wall then pushed as hard as his old legs could.

He shot toward the bay. There was a lounge chair that looked like it was going to collide with him. Jacob waited until it was about to hit him, then curled into a ball. The chair hit his side and its direction went slightly up. Jacob uncurled.

A sharp pain entered his head, and then there was nothing. the back leg of the chair had hit his head. He continued to drift toward the pod with a small trail of blood behind him. Jacob landed in the pod. His frozen left arm hit the button labeled “LAUNCH”. The lifeboat shot off of the Vespucci toward the spinning pink vortex. Because Jacob was unconscious he didn’t realize that the plans for the shrinking spaceship stayed on the Vespucci, caught in the lifeboat docking doors.

 

[WrathofaShardKitten]

I wrote these last week, partially as potential games submissions, partially because they got stuck in my head and writing was about the only way to get them out. Nothing really horrible about them, just not a ton of emotional connection either. Along with all the faults I could pick out but am consciously ignoring 

I should probably just let people read for themselves, though, so here you go, if you want to read them. First one is called "Jobs Like Ours," and was mostly just to explore an idea. Second one is called "Blur," and, well, you can blame a song for it's existence.

Spoiler

“You know the funny thing about jobs like ours?” She’s back again, perched atop a table just outside my cell, legs swinging back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm.

The guard is nowhere to be seen. He never is when she’s around, though I can’t tell exactly why. You’d think now would be the perfect time to have a guard, to protect the woman from the prisoners. Yet there was no guard to be seen at all.

The woman herself is rather an anomaly. Pretty, with clean clothes that mark her as one of the favored. At the same time, silvery scars stand out in sharp contrast to her light brown skin, she moves with the grace of one accustomed to fighting, and, perhaps most telling, she spends her days chatting with a prisoner.

“I’d assume there are several funny things about jobs like ours.” Hero, villain. Though I have to admit the woman hardly seems the villainous type. She might be another of the political pawns, but still. The label didn’t seem to fit.

She smiles a little at my words, genuine amusement sparking in her eyes. Her legs stilled.

“Well, you’re probably right. The one I was thinking of, though, is the idea that despite other differences, both of our jobs require some form of belief.”

“Belief?” I ask. I’m fishing for conversation here, regardless of any belief I might have in the topic.

One of the worst things about my prison is the dreary emptiness of it all. I didn’t even have so much as a bouncy ball to while away the hours, and while I was rarely truly alone, the guard hardly made a dazzling conversation partner. He refuses to talk to me, though I can’t take it too personally as he refuses to talk to anyone.

“Yes, belief.”

I blink, suddenly realizing I’d zoned out for a minute. The woman is watching me, and while her gaze isn’t sharp or piercing, it is present.

“You believe in a hero, in a quest, in making the world a better place. That belief will get you killed. Without that belief, you would never have become what you are, Levi.”

I shift uncomfortably. The use of my name means she knows who I am. Logically, the thought makes sense. She must know who I am, but until that moment, names on either side, indications of positions or powers, haven’t been a feature in our conversations.

“I believed as well. I believed in a person, in an idea, in the encompassing weight of a world only meant to destroy.” She smiles wryly.

Interest, against my will, began to prick the edges of my consciousness, straightening my spine.

“Most people never believe. They only fear,” she continues, hands held still and open before her. Her gaze is settled on a point far beyond reality. “When you fear, there is no motion, no choice, no way to rise. Fear is tottering steps along a tightrope stretched across the gaping abyss of failure.

“Or.” Her right hand curls, dropping. Her gaze is still leagues away. “Avarice. The pride of landing yourself upon the top of the world, and only wanting more.”

I realize—in the pause between words—that I’m holding my breath, drawn in despite my previous disinterest. I intentionally release the breath, berating myself for getting so caught up in the story, in the emotions playing plainly across the woman’s face. Villains aren’t meant to be so personable, and despite appearances, that is what the woman is. There is no way she can be otherwise, and it would do me well not to forget that.

I miss the moment she refocuses but it must have happened, because suddenly there are words again quietly spoken.

“Belief,” she says, eyes fixed now on the hands curled on her lap. “To find yourself exactly where you’re meant to be. To rise up, when the world is falling out from beneath your feet. To trust, and think you are trusted in return.”

She smiles suddenly, glancing up at me and rising to her feet.

No! She can’t leave yet! To leave would be to leave me alone again, in the silence, in the flickering electric lights, in the unchanging time. I scramble to my feet as well, doing my best to brush the grime from my clothes as I stand, a useless gesture as my clothes by this point are almost entirely covered in stains or dust of one kind or another.

“Wait!” I’m so focused on her leaving, I almost miss the object sailing through the air towards me, passing easily through the bars. They land with a “chink” noise. Keys.

The woman is still moving, striding along far too quickly towards the stairs, and I’m caught between calling out and pouncing upon the keys.

“The guard changes every two hours, marked by a single hour after your second meal of the day. Two days from now, the shift will be late. Tick tock. Change clothes as quick as you can.”

I know that. Clothing sets you apart. I glance up, only to realize that she’s at the base of the stairs and beginning to climb.

“Wait!” I call once again. She pauses, throwing me a quick smile but not speaking. “What, uh, what about you?”

She grins, a flash of white teeth before they’re gone again. “I’ll be fine. Get yourself out of here.”

And with that, she’s gone, up the stairs and out of sight.

I stoop, slowly picking up the heavy keys. They scrape harshly against the stone ground, but to me it might as well be the most beautiful sound. I could be free.

I straighten, excitement springing to the forefront of my mind, a smile curling my lips. Heavy footsteps sound on the stairs, and I rush to hide the keys, sinking back to the ground and doing my best to suppress the smile once more.

The guard glares at me when he gets close, staring suspiciously before grunting once and stomping away.

I could be free.

It’s only later that I realize, I never thought to ask her name. She saved me, or rather, gave me the means by which I can save myself, and I’m still as clueless as to her identity as I have always been.

 

Spoiler

Lights build. Colors blur as tears fill my eyes. Individual squares of light mix, fading into a single whole, a haze of brightness, and what does it matter?

A square goes out, a light turns off, and no one sees. Another turns on, on and off, without rhyme, without reason, without meaning at all. The glow remains the same. A haze of light, blocking out the night, and what does it matter if they blink out, never to turn on again? Another takes their place just as easily.

I shiver. The night is bitingly cold, even without the slight breeze that blows everlasting from the tops of the buildings. My cheeks are cold. I don’t know why I’m crying.

I’m not sure how long I sit there in the cold, hugging myself for any meager warmth I might have, staring out at the empty lights, when footsteps arrive on the rooftop. I don’t turn around.

Silence, as the footsteps stop. I can almost feel the warmth radiating from their body.

A soft sigh, Danny sits down beside me. I startle as a heavy weight settles across my shoulders. A blanket. I blink, and my muscles are stiff when I move to pull it closer. The warmth is almost immediate. Better is Danny’s steady presence at my side.

Lights flicker. Colors blur. One turns out, and then another. The haze remains unchanged and we sit alone, watching the colors shift and change, breathing in the silence.