This is kinda hard to say, but I guess there's no really good way to say it, so I'll just say it. I've given up on art.

The long and short of it is that I came to the realization, a few months ago, that the reason I became an artist in the first place is to illustrate my writing - characters, places, architecture, creatures, and so forth. Given that is the case, I decided it was better for me to focus on what I'm more interested in, as it might help me in the long run. Not that writing fiction is any less liable to promote poverty than art of most sorts, but as they say, you gotta follow your passion.

The secondary reason is, because art was always a peripheral passion for me, I would never achieve the sheer... drive I needed. You can lead a horse to water, as the saying goes. It took me a long time to realize this, though. Could I become a good artist? Sure. I have the technical skill and the training, but I don't have that internal fire, that need, that... passion. The creative fires always ebb and flow for even the greatest, but that's not really what I'm referring to. It's that feeling, that deep inner feeling that this is what I *have* to do, what I *must* do.

It's not something that can be easily said. You either know what I'm talking about or not. It's that inner coil, that spring, that clockwork need to do... something. Maybe it's for the right reasons, often it's for all the wrong reasons, but it's there, like a ravening maw demanding attention, exertion, life, blood, and soul. It's like destiny - a destiny that drives you to the cliffs of the mundane and towards the sun above in a flight that demands you forsake everything else, for there is no other way.

Art isn't it. Not for me.

So, I mean, I'll be here and all. I sign in at least once a week. New art may pop up from time to time. Maybe once a year. If that. It's definitely something I like, and I can still appreciate art, both for its technical aspects and in a kind of child-like awe, but I think I'm done.