Pathetic.

I danced around my room a bit. Brushed my teeth and pulled out my makeup bag. I powdered my cheeks and then had to blow off the bit I spilled off my shirt. I unbraided my hair, sprayed in some dry shampoo and fluffed accordingly. I swiped on some lipstick and put on my Penny Lane coat. I got in my car and blasted One Direction while driving the backroads to school. Needless to say, it was better than a typical morning. I felt better than I had in a long time. 

I never imagined that my mood would be lifted by 1000x later on that morning. 

My final project in painting was due today, along with four other people's. Of course, I gracefully came into the room lugging a 24x36in canvas before coughing my head off because I sucked some air down wrong. We gathered toward the front of the room and looked at the work of the three people before me. I was the last to sign up, so I went last. My hands were clammy and nervously wrapped around my little floral notebook I carry around to take art-related notes. My hands were so clammy that the paper design on the book started to curl up. It was finally my turn so I put up my portrait, this one to be exact (a snippet of it, atleast!)

I timidly watched my classmates walk closer to my painting. Pointing fingers and whispering. I tried not to listen to what they were saying. I was trying to focus on how I was going to introduce this massive man's face that was staring at them. 

About a week ago when I began this painting, my professor came up to  me and told me to consider explaining my fascination with celebrity and why I tend to paint them more than anything else. That statement stuck with me for the remainder of the week. I really didn't know right off why I painted celebrity so much. Easy accessibility to photos? No personal connection so if I mess up they won't find out? Neither of those seemed right. I meditated over it until I came up with a reasoning behind it. And like most great ideas, it came to me one night when I wasn't able to sleep because of the cough I mentioned before. 

These paintings and drawings of celebrity come from a place of loneliness. A place of deep, deep, regret and loneliness. This might be more eloquently explained in the write up I did for my painting, 

"This portrait, like much of my work, is an open curtain to the inner workings of my heart and mind. Images of celebrities are a common motif in my work and for a specific reason. Growing up, I always dreamed of performing or doing something unconventional. I watched movies and listened to music, often with tears in my eyes because I was so moved by the work I was witnessing from these people I would never meet. Creating images of these people somehow makes me closer to them. On my loneliest days these individuals were there for me the instant I needed them. My hand was being held. The thought of never being able to meet these inspirational individuals lead to me creating portraits of them. The sadness I feel once I remember that thought is what drives me to make these images, and that is also why I usually chose an expression that is more serious. I create these portraits as a small thank you for all that they’ve done for me. I see so much beauty in them that I often don’t see in myself, so creating these images somehow helps me see that beauty in myself.  I see reflections of myself in them, partially because they’re living a life I’ve dreamed of since I was a child."

I know I've talked about all this before. But sometimes I feel like the extent of it is something I don't like to touch on because it makes me feel pathetic. The amount of times I went to Disney Channel for comfort instead of talking to an actual person is kinda pathetic. 

Which leads me back into the story of today's painting class, where the word "pathetic" spilled from my lips more than once. 

I was verbally explaining to my professor and classmates that I created this painting out of what I had written in my statement and because I was kind of in love with the Patrick Fugit guy I painted. I told them I felt like that made me sound pathetic for loving some guy who I've never met. I explained in great detail why I always painted him. I'm not sure if I've said this before on here, but if not I'll tell you now. Last October, I was having immense doubts in myself that have bled into this current year. I felt like I may have been making a mistake by being an artist. I felt like my work wasn't good. I struggled with confidence in my work. Around the same time, I stumbled upon Patrick Fugit's movies by randomly watching one of them on Netflix one day. I was enthralled with this guy. I connected with his characters and him as a person. Something about this guy continuously pulled me in. I was creating art again. I was drawing him nonstop. My love for art came back. I drew every little bump on his face until my hands were completely blackened with charcoal. I did the same with this portrait of him above. I wanted all of his imperfections in it. I wanted his bumps and that mole by his eye. I wanted to focus so heavily on those things because those things made him so human to me. He was no longer that guy on the screen. He was real. He was beside me. He was silently patting me on the back and telling me I'm not a failure in this field. Somehow this guy pulled me out of my slump and made me feel like an artist again. 

And again, I said this in class today and told myself that this made me pathetic to feel so strongly for someone who I've never met. To be so in love with some guy, so much adoration for him that I pay attention to his pores, the way his eyebrows curve, and his little eye mole. It must be pathetic. Quite honestly, while telling them this, I felt embarrassed. 

I also told them how painting these people with all their imperfections made me feel beauty in myself. I'm still not sure how to explain that one. I think by focusing so heavily on someone else's features, even down to the mole, and considering them beautiful - I think that in turn made me slowly start doing that to myself. My little freckles, my cheek dent, my different sized eyes. I slowly begin to see them as beautiful, too. 

I said all this and so much more. I basically put all of my insecurities and fears into this giant Gatorade bucket and dumped it on all my classmates like we were celebrating a big win or something. The response I got was unlike anything I could've ever imagined. 

These people I barely talked to were saying they were proud of me. They were proud that I poured that Gatorade on them. What?! My professor told me my self-effacing humor was hilarious. A couple girls who I've always been slightly envious of told me that they were in complete shock that I didn't see beauty in myself, then told me I was beautiful. The earnestness in their voice made it hard for me to respond. Again, what?! A girl said she just wanted to hug me. I was commended for my writing, and that the writing opened my painting into a completely new light they never would've known about. It was so crazy because I haven't talked much to these people and they were talking about how they would watch me paint during class and how amazed they were by what I was doing. I never even noticed any of it was happening. My self-deprecating self assumes people automatically don't like me, so I keep to myself. 

The one comment that struck the strongest chord with me was, "you aren't pathetic." I didn't realize how many times I called myself or my past pathetic until a couple people brought it up to me afterwards. Being told that my true feelings weren't pathetic was the most heart wrenching part of my morning. I never expressed why I painted celebrities or Patrick so much until today. I kept it under wraps because I felt like I was going to get thought of as "weird" or "pathetic" for it. I was reassured by my professor and another guy in class that having a muse isn't pathetic. Having someone I love to draw and paint and makes me feel like a beautiful person doesn't make me pathetic. 

The whole time during these comments I was still clutching my little notebook, trying to take it all in. I was nodding and smiling. I wish I could've recorded it all because I'm afraid I have already forgotten parts of it because I was so incredibly overwhelmed by the response my painting got. It was such a strange feeling. This may be extreme, but it felt like I had placed my fragile, beating heart down on a table in front of a crowd, expecting someone to look at me like I was disgusting. But instead, I saw nothing but pure love and compassion in their eyes. The way they were looking at me, I honestly don't think I'll ever get that image out of my mind. I can't explain it. My heart was pounding the whole time. 

It all wrapped up and I went to get my backpack to head out. I was looking at my phone and my professor came up and asked me if I understood all that had just happened. I nodded, and told him, "Yes, I think it's still sinking in." I may be imagining things, but I think he knew. I think he knew how much of an experience that must've been for me. I honestly believe he's somewhat understood all along. I think he's seen that lack of confidence since he first met me freshman year. He knows. And now other people do, too. And even though my inner child is scared that I opened up that much to others, my adult self feels more secure than I did when I walked into that class today. 

I believe there must've been some aura around me today that was exuding joy. I was standing in line in the food court after class holding my painting. My head was still reeling from earlier. A frat-looking guy (I understand this is stereotypical, but he just had that look. I don't mean it in a rude way, but usually I don't get attention from any guys like that) looked at me and asked "did you paint that? Who is it?" I looked at him, forgetting I was holding a painting. I laughed a little and said yeah, and told him it was Patrick Fugit. He told me he had no idea who that is but "if he sees it, I'm sure he'll be pleased with it." I thanked him, not knowing how else to respond. He kept continuing conversation and I was thrown off guard. He got his food and walked away from me, but before he left he said, "keep on painting." 

I don't honestly know why I'm writing this. I don't want it to sound like I'm bragging, I hope it doesn't. It was just the first time I think I've ever felt like an artist. The process of this painting somewhat solidified that for me. I've gotten more comments in person on this painting than I ever have in the whole time I've been creating art. I'm sitting in bed right now wondering what on earth I did to deserve any of this. It makes me want to cry. To have something that truly came from my heart, deep deep from  my heart, showcased in front of everyone and have it applauded for the amount of emotion that went into it, I don't know. That's something I'm not sure if I'll ever feel again. I've smiled more today than I have in years. My heart was overflowing all day. 

I will never truly understand or believe that all this actually happened today. I am truly trying to take all the comments I got today to heart. It's very hard for me to do that, since I grew up having a hard time accepting compliments. I promise you I'm trying to be kind to myself and let myself accept that maybe they're right. 

Thank you for reading this, I know it's long!

-Rachel xx