“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art . . . It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”
C.S. Lewis

When I first heard this quote, I was in my freshman year of college talking to my drawing teacher after class. I don't remember the full context of the conversation, but I was in a really bad place mentally, emotionally, artistically, and spiritually. (I was a mess when I was seventeen... I think I'm a little more "with it" now.) But I do remember that I was struggling pretty badly with finding my place as an artist, as a student, and as a person (specifically as a friend). My drawing teacher -- who became my design fundamentals, painting, and studio teacher through the years of my undergrad -- is one of those people that can almost instantly sense when someone is hurting. He's very empathetic and compassionate and has a knack for saying just the right thing at just the right time. 

Humanity is wired for friendship and closeness -- after all, the first God-ordained institution was the family. And humanity has always, to a certain degree, been wired for creativity. We have written and oral traditions, old songs passed down through generations, and we have placed great monetary and sentimental value on visual art. But I personally struggle with the idea that art has no "survival value". I always have, and no doubt I always will. Similarly, sentimentality and closeness with others has no "survival value". On Maslow's hierarchy of needs, it's not exactly at the bottom, near the foundation. Our physiological needs take that place -- food, water, shelter.

The longer I'm alive, though, the more I come to realize that we desperately need community and connection. Often our desire for love drives us, like Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, to seek it in "Alderaan" places. (I'm sorry. That was pretty terrible.) More seriously, community and friendship and family are what give us our sense of belonging. We require security in order to pursue great things, because we know that, if we fail, we can come running home like the prodigal son. The world is in isolation right now for pandemic reasons, and I think we're all coming to realize how important it is to be amongst one another -- as family, as friends, as artists, and as worshippers.

Art and friendship do not sustain us physically. But Lewis was right. They make life worth being alive for.

"SURVIVAL VALUE" VS "VALUE TO SURVIVAL"

Much of the world places high importance on "survival value". Become a doctor, or a lawyer, or an engineer. If you're good at math or science, you're set to find a high-paying job. Survival value is what keeps the world turning -- metaphorically, in the human sense of a stimulated economy and countries that constantly develop their infrastructure, medicine, and whatnot; literally, in the Godly sense of the earth hurtling through space on its neverending dance with the rest of the solar system.

Society, however, pays very little mind to "value to survival". These are our artists, our musicians, our potters and florists and game devs. But the world as we know it today would be nonexistent if it were not for "value to survival". Who designed the clothes you wear, or the smartphone you use? Who made that video game you love, or that book you always recommend to everyone? Who made that movie that defined your high school existence, and who recorded that song you love so much that you could sing it in your sleep?

THE IMPORTANCE OF "VALUE TO SURVIVAL"

Our God, as the Master Artist, is the perfect balance of "survival value" vs "value to survival". We already know He's practical and intelligent -- just look at Creation! The laws of nature perform as expected -- gravity, thermodynamics, physics, chemistry. But just look at the majesty of His art! The view of the mountains from a long hike, a rich red California sunset, the intensity of the air in a brewing thunderstorm. God gave us our senses to do more than just study the facts of Creation -- we were made to appreciate beauty and majesty.

Not only are we designed to love visual beauty, we're also fashioned to love goodness and kindness! It's the reason we love hearing stories of local heroes and watching comedies and dreaming of falling in love. We love to laugh and smile and feel good. Being happy is our favorite thing to be. And we seek this type of happiness when we see other people -- family, friends, and lovers. Ultimately, you can only find true fulfillment in Christ, but often He uses others to bring us closer to Him.

THE PLACE OF ART AND FRIENDSHIP

I'm a fairly social person. As an artist, I thrive amongst others who are likeminded, who have the same interests and sense of humor. And when I don't get to see these people for extended periods of time, I tend to struggle and flounder in my creativity, feeling alone. Art is so profoundly part of who I am, and when I struggle with my art, I struggle with myself and my identity. For me, art and friendship go hand-in-hand. If I'm not around the right people, my art doesn't improve. Many artists don't necessarily share this point of view. They tend to work alone, preferring no distractions. Often they're really truly introverted, not seeking much in terms of companionship, and they're content to be stuck by themselves for days at a time. But deep down, we all want to be loved and surrounded by just the right people -- the number and type just vary from person to person.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter how good you are at what you do, how much you practice, or how much money you make from it. Ultimately, you need to find the right people to be around. They will be there for you when you can no longer hold a paintbrush or thread a needle or spin a potter's wheel. Your family will be there -- whether blood family or found family. And your friends will be too! Take the time to invest in people -- family, friends, and yes, even lovers. 

Love of any kind is a tricky thing -- people aren't perfect, and they can be wildly unpredictable. Why bother investing in people if they'll only hurt you in return? You don't want to get your heart broken! No one does. Heartbreak was what put me in that spot with my drawing teacher, hearing him quote C.S. Lewis. It was a slow lesson to learn. In fact, I'm still learning it. I've had my fair share of heartbreak over the past couple of years. But the longer I'm on God's green earth, the more I realize how profoundly beautiful it is to share life with the right people. Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! (Psalm 133:1).

It's okay to love art and to love your relationships with others. God created us to have fellowship with Him and experience His profound love and goodness. And He's placed many relationships in our lives to reflect His character and heart towards us -- parents to children, husbands to wives, friends to friends. People aren't perfect -- they'll never be the exact image of His character. But the more we strive to be like Him, the more our relationships flourish -- and our art will become better for it. 

In the end, love is the highest form of art. And I don't mean in the Hollywood romance sense -- I mean how you're really supposed to love people. Deeply, completely, and cheering them on as they become who they're meant to be in Christ. The greatest example of love as beauty is Christ's death on the cross -- greater love hath no man than this -- and the beauty of how God loved us so much that He did whatever it would take to bring us back to Him. The cross, while ugly to see, is beautiful in the light of grace.

On a side note, I'm going back to college in the fall -- I got accepted into grad school! You know, that application that had me biting my nails for over a month and a half? Yeah, that one! I got in! And I'll get to see my drawing teacher again. I owe him a lot artistically, but I owe him a lot spiritually too. (He'll have to brace himself for my ugly crying when I see him next.) Because of his influence and friendship, I have another opportunity to make new relationships, grow current ones, and rekindle old ones. And I have another opportunity to grow as an artist. 

I get to practice "value to survival".

On Tuesday, I got a phone call from my good friend Katie. We didn't have much to catch up on, since nothing much has been happening, but we talked for a bit how we understand our favorite mediums. Katie is an oil painter, and she's fond of painting still lives and pretty scenes. She recently completed a master copy of a sunflower painting by Daniel Keys, and she was telling me about how it changed her process of color mixing. Her tendency, according to her, is to mix her colors into more neutral tones, and her goal is to use more pure pigment and inject some vibrancy into her work.

I cannot paint. I've taken multiple painting classes -- I've had limited success with acrylic and watercolor, but oil painting makes me want to stab myself in the eye. My alma mater places a TON of stock on classical art forms, and it was very frustrating to understand how painting works theoretically, but not be able to do it. I tend to think of it like a backflip -- I understand the physics of a backflip, but if you put a gun to my head and told me to do a backflip, I'd probably just have to die.

HOW DO TRADITIONAL ARTISTS THINK?

Katie thrives on traditional art forms. She'll tell you herself that she hates computers, and she'd rather be up to her elbows in paint. Her thought process, as a result, has to be deliberate and methodical. She's familiar with what it takes to fix a problem in a traditional art form. If your drawing isn't good, you have to erase it and redraw it. If your colors aren't right, then you have to remix them. If a spot in your painting just isn't working, you have to scrape all the paint off and start fresh. Katie is, without doubt, a very logical person, but her logic applies onto a flat canvas. She doesn't work in layers. You could compare her work to a puzzle; the pieces all fit together, but they don't overlap.

Traditional art forms take time. Technically, all art forms require time, but from my experience, traditional art forms require far more time and deliberate thought, and obviously require physical interaction with the product. You slap paint on a canvas, mold a sculpture, and blend out your charcoal powder. It gets on your clothes and in your hair and in the carpet, and sometimes in your digestive system if you drink your paint water by accident.

HOW DO DIGITAL ARTISTS THINK?

I am a digital artist. If I'm not working via a screen, I'm not all that excited about it. I love digital illustration and book layout. The biggest advantage of digital art (at least I see it as an advantage) is that you're able to work in layers. If you're at all familiar with digital painting or any programs that create static images, then you'll know that they give you the ability to work in layers, with multiple blending modes, group functionalities, and masking options. Speaking purely in technicalities, there are MANY more components to digital art than there are to traditional art. There's a lot of functionality that you have to understand and be familiar with/comfortable with using.

During our conversation, I realized the key difference between traditional and digital artists: digital artists think in layers. Wow, groundbreaking. Congratulations! Here's a gold medal for the obvious. I know, it sounds elementary, but hear me out.

WHY CERTAIN ART FORMS MAKE MORE SENSE TO YOU

Suddenly, it made sense. That was why all the traditional art forms never clicked! I never seemed to break through the barriers of painting and drawing. I knew how to paint and draw, but fixing paintings or drawings was so slow and difficult that I inevitably lost interest after hour two (geez, how did I ever graduate?). I was tired of mixing colors and waiting for them to dry, only to have to change them AGAIN. I was sick of erasing a line and redrawing it until it was right. To me, it made more sense to use the paint bucket and color-drop into the wrong color to correct it, or to select an area of a drawing and move/resize it until it was right.

When I paint digitally, I work in layers. Instead of looking at a reference image and color picking exactly the right color, I follow a certain, semi-rigid process that involves thinking in layers, both digitally and mentally. I'll break down the process. For sake of clarity, I've formatted it this way: #) Mental mode (blending mode). These steps all stack and clip on top of each other, starting from sketch and ending with direct light.

HOW TO THINK IN LAYERS

1) Sketch (Normal)

In order to be good at any other medium, you have to be good at drawing. If your drawing isn't good, you'll have trouble making anything else look right. When I sketch, I usually use black on the normal blending mode, though you could really use any color you like.

2) Base colors (Normal)

The first step for color in my brain is to choose the base color of something. This is how most people think that aren't "artists". My shirt is gray. My socks are black. The flowers are purple. In your daily life, you don't look at a blue water bottle and say "oh technically this is not blue in this lighting". You know it's a blue water bottle. I'll patch in the base colors for everything, on the normal blending mode.

3) Shadow (Multiply)

Color is drastically affected by lighting schemes. Once I decided on the lighting scheme I planned to use, I choose an appropriate shadow color and patch it in where shadows WOULD fall, on the multiply blending mode. (I could go on a long rant on color theory and the use of multiply as a blending mode, but I'll save you the headache.)

4) General light (Overlay)

Technically, there's no "right" order of whether or not you should add shadows or lighting first; I just find it easier to put shadows first and light second. I'll choose an appropriate lighting color and patch it in on the overlay blending mode, where it makes sense for light to fall on the subject.

5) Direct light (Add)

There's a difference between diffused and direct light; you'll see diffused general light on a cloudy day, but you'll see direct light on a sunny day. The clearest example of direct light is rim light, when the subject is backlit and they have a pseudo-corona of color around them. You will always deal with general light, but you will not always deal with direct light.

DO YOU THINK IN LAYERS?

If that all sounds wildly complicated to you, you're not alone! Many people don't think this way. But if that all made at least a little sense, there's a chance you have a propensity to digital art, whether digital painting or graphic design. You could, in theory, paint on one layer like you paint on a physical canvas, and select colors in the same way you would mix them on a palette. But if you think like me, the odds are high that digital painting (in layers!) will make more sense to you.

When thinking in layers, you don't think of the piece as a whole; you think of each individual part. You think of the base color, and then placing a shadow on it, and then placing a light cast on it. You think of the color of the skin, and then place a blush tone over it. You think of a leaf and a light source as two completely separate things -- you paint the leaf, and then you paint the light falling on it. This is the key difference between digital and traditional art. You have to think of all these things at the same time when working traditionally. But when working digitally, you can easily change the angle or temperature of the light source, and any number of variables. You can explore more, and faster.

There's a lot more to digital painting than mental and layer blending modes. There are brush blending modes, clipping masks, adjustment layers, selection and distortion... the tools are FAR more diverse, and require a lot of experimentation and fundamental understanding. But if you understand your tools, you'll get more done, and faster. Digital art is ideal for me because I'm a very fast person. I think, learn, read, eat, write, shower, draw, and paint fast. I hate to spend more than a couple hours on something. I also am the type to have to churn out a ton of bad work before I can get to the good stuff, so digital art gets me there faster.

One final word: DIGITAL ART ISN'T CHEATING! You just have more tools at your disposal. If you take the time to understand how to use them and use them correctly, it requires just as much discipline and knowledge as it would to squint at your source image and mix exactly the right color. So take heart, aspiring digital artists! You're just as much of an artist as the guy painting forty hours a day.

Recently I've been trying to get into grad school, and I got an email last Thursday asking me to redo my portfolio and send it back for reevaluation. I was excited to get word back, but on the same token I was doing some serious metaphorical nail-biting because hoo boy, I gotta make an even better second impression. When I checked for their requested specs, they wanted more examples of "understanding and application of form as it relates to value and color and edge control." I kinda squinted at it for a while, and then wandered out to complain (good-naturedly) to my parents about it, and then sat down to consider what I should replace the pieces with. 

Of course, the piece I quoted from the email is chock-full of jargon. Let's break it down.

FORM: the 3-dimensional quality of a piece of artwork, having a visible light and shadow side.

A lot of artists, especially in the past decade, have been drawn (I don't think I'll ever be able NOT to make that pun) to more 2-dimensional styles. Let's look at all the popular animated series that have been 2D -- Avatar: The Last Airbender, Steven Universe, the She-Ra reboot, My Little Pony, Arthur, Phineas and Ferb... the list could go on for a LONG time. 

In some sense, there are some 3D elements in some of these shows. Many of these shows are cel-shaded, which give the basic indications of shadow. But there is very little to otherwise indicate 3D. There's a reason these shows are popular amongst beginner artists. They are very simple and easy to draw/make it look accurate to the source. You would have an easier time drawing Steven Universe than you would Rebecca Sugar herself. 

A lot of people would argue that no, that's not necessarily true, because they've seen some master artists draw accurately with only lines and no shading. It's true that you can do a good line drawing and make it look like the reference image. But what many amateur artists fail to take into account is that learning to communicate form is what makes your line drawings better. 

WHO IS THE HUMAN MASTER ARTIST?

Let's look at Cameron Stewart's work, for example. He typically draws in a comic book inking style, which is typically only black ink on white paper. But as you look through his work, you see that he has a very solid, fundamental understanding of form. He's an excellent digital painter. He knows what colors and values to use to show the lit areas vs the shadow areas. And because he understands light and shadow, he communicates 3D form VERY well. Thus, he's phenomenal at line drawings, because he knows what lines will indicate (you guessed it!) form. 

We could look at Dave Malan's work as well. Dave draws with mostly lines and very little "shading" as most people would see it. But once again, if you look at his other work, you see he's an excellent painter. You can see how shadows fall and wrap around 3D shapes. It looks like a photo, and it makes sense. Dave is a master of form. You could list plenty of other artists that exhibit a masterful understanding of form. Cameron Stewart and Dave Malan are just two of my favorites.

Form can be easily defined as "light and shadow", but there are subcomponents to light and shadow. When working in black and white, your primary concern is value, which is how light or dark the shade of gray is. You can communicate accuracy with just shapes -- vector portraits are probably the clearest example of this. The colors aren't blended; they're butted up against each other like puzzle pieces. And you could really relegate it to literally just the colors black and white (not grayscale), as long as you've got the shapes of the shadows right. 

After you get your values right, you look at the edgework. How hard or soft is the edge? Is it totally blended out, or is it as sharp as a knife? Knowing how to set your edges correctly will seriously affect the quality and style of your piece. The least important part of form is color, technically, but colors do make a whole heck of a difference. A good midtone color choice will drastically liven up what you're working on.

COULD I BECOME A MASTER ARTIST?

When I took all this into account, I realized that they wanted me to paint like a photo. 

Given my propensity to 2D art, I balked at the idea, because gosh darn it, I want to specialize in concept art, not digital painting. But I buckled down and created anyway. I ended up creating over five brand-new pieces in the course of a weekend because I was determined to get in, and if it was form they wanted, then form they would have. I never sat down and reviewed my notes from my classical courses, per se, but I could hear my teachers chanting form form form form form form very ominously in my head as I attempted to master an entirely new painting style in four days. I suppose it felt more like a montage from Rocky than anything else, except that I mostly had the Krusty Krab Trap Remix playing rather than the Rocky soundtrack. 

Have I gotten in? I have no idea. I've yet to hear from them beyond saying "oh yes we got your portfolio". And this has been in the works for over a month now. Am I going crazy? Absolutely. Can I do anything about it? Absolutely not. The powers that be in academia operate completely independently of me. One thing is for certain: I did my best, and it is only God who knows whether or not ya girl is getting in.

As I write, though, I realize that swallowing my pride and taking the time to intentionally improve shot me light-years forward. Intentional improvement is not something society values as much as it should. Nothing inside of me WANTED to sit down and get better for the sake of learning. It wasn't spite, it was something else. I wanted to prove myself. I have always felt some obligation to prove myself to somebody. It's a natural response and I've never been able to shut it off of my own accord.

I realized, though, that the whole point isn't to prove myself to anyone -- not my teachers or the admissions team or the people who follow my art account on Instagram -- and certainly not God. Could I shut off the need to prove myself? Not on my own. God had to figuratively sit me down and give me the pep talk of "you're not the best you know, you could stand to take it down a notch or two" and I had to nod and concede and just work. The same thing goes for our personal and spiritual lives. We are in a constant state of growth, or at least we SHOULD be. Growth doesn't happen by accident, though; improvement is always intentional. Your relationships with others, God, and your hobbies will always require effort to press forward in. 

Of course, we're not equipped to grow without help. We were made for companionship and to learn from others. We are all equal at the foot of the cross, but we are not all equal in every other sense. We have our strengths and weaknesses, and together we "form" a brilliant piece of God's design, if we choose to surround ourselves with all the right "values", "edges", and "colors".

WHO'S THE REAL MASTER ARTIST?

The greatest piece of art this universe has ever seen is most definitely the story of God's great love towards mankind. Let's look at the list again:

1) Value
2) Edgework
3) Color

Artistically, these all have their own meanings (value = light vs dark, edgework = hard vs soft, color = hue/saturation). But as we know them morally, let's reconsider the hierarchy.

1) Values = the moral code of conduct you live by. Your life is lived by a moral code of your own design. Of course, you can't create pure objective morality on your own. That's why we seek God and His definitions of morality. He knows all, and is above all. In the grand (color) scheme of things, value is the most important thing, both artistically and morally. Having values and a moral compass pointed to God's true north will anchor you to create beautiful, truly morally and technically good art.

2) Edgework = rough or refined. We've heard the term "rough around the edges". It's usually used to say that someone isn't quite fitting into their surroundings or the people around them. We also hear the term "diamond in the rough". If someone is very refined and socially adept, we say they are "well-rounded". Those who are rough around the edges (bold and brash) provide their own sharp edges and contrasts with the people around them. The refined, well-rounded folks blend with the people they're surrounded by and are the links holding their little society of different people together. We need a variety of edgework to create the right light and shadow patterns to fit God's design. 

3) Color = personality or physical appearance. "Color" is a touchy word with many connotations. It's often used in the context of racial tension. It could also refer to your vocabulary (colorful language) or your personality (someone with a colorful personality is certainly more exciting than someone with a bland one). Each color has its complement (orange/blue, red/green, yellow/purple), and similarly, we see complements in personality and in even visual aesthetics. Color is the final element that we splash in to make something really just pop out -- and our God is an artist Himself, of course. Why shouldn't He take His liberties to splash us with seemingly inconsequential things, like our personalities and the way we look?

FORM AND THE (REAL) MASTER ARTIST

In the end, we see how we as people come together to create a great piece with form. Our God is the Master Artist, to be certain -- after all, He made the world and everything in and beyond it in six days. He made us the way we are for a reason, which is to bring Him glory and to experience His boundless love.

Painting with form is the mark of a master artist, in the earthly sense. But being the piece in the form of God's handiwork is far greater than any piece you could ever make yourself.

Most of you are familiar with Inktober or Mermay, two of the most popular drawing challenges on the internet. Inktober was created by Jake Parker, and every October 1st he publishes a list of 31 prompts to be done fully in some form of ink. Some people opt for ballpoint pen doodles, some will do calligraphy, some do digital inking (I raise my hand here) and some do fully rendered ink pieces in crosshatch or stipple. There aren't a ton of restrictions, as long as you follow the prompt list and use ink. Mermay is pretty self-explanatory; it was created by Tom Bancroft, and every May he publishes a list of prompts for people to make into mermaids... you get the drift. Of course, these are all 31-day challenges, but I like to condense into 30 so that my Instagram feed (which is grouped in 3s) will look good after completing it! Ah, millennials.

I've done Inktober before, and I did fine, but I was a junior in college so I was very busy--most of my pieces were very quick. But at least I stuck with it! I know I mention Jake Parker a lot, but his mantra is "finished, not perfect", and I hang on to that mantra like a koala. Jake always says that it's more important to actually finish something rather than make it perfect. As artists, we tend to get caught up in making something look perfect. We'll sit there and tweak little things for years sometimes, and we tend to think as Da Vinci did -- "art is never finished, only abandoned".

I would stand to disagree.

Sure, no art piece is truly perfect. But you have to let go of something eventually, or you'll be stuck on the same thing forever. This could apply to probably anything else. If you get hung up on past hurts or stay basking in nostalgia forever, you won't move forward. The past is an interesting place. It should be visited, but should never become a place of residence. Similarly, you can't keep tweaking the same piece forever, or keep writing the same manuscript forever. You have to eventually take the plunge to finish it, or at least move to the next step.

MY PERSONAL 30-DAY CHALLENGE

This past March, I created my own personal challenge -- 30 Fictional Women. It's a little more rigid than Inktober or Mermay are. I decided that for 30 days in March (which coincided with Women's Month), I would do a full-color, full-background illustration of 30 fictional female characters. I sat down and preplanned the characters I would draw, and I just... well, I just DID it. I'll be honest -- I wasn't overly pleased with most of them. They weren't BAD, per se. They were just fairly average. But there were some gems that I really was proud of!

My main takeaways from the challenge were:

1) Drawing different ethnicities/clothing styles.

Since I'm (mostly) white (the rest of me is Asian), I typically draw white people -- which isn't inherently a bad thing, there are a lot of white people in this world. I've learned to make my white characters more diverse. But I also realized how little representation there was for other cultures and ethnicities, which is a bummer because I've had the privilege to live in multiple cultures!  One of my favorite outfits to draw was Ziio's. I didn't do her design justice, but the work the Assassin's Creed team put into designing Ziio and all the other ethnically/culturally diverse characters in AC3. I think anyone would stand to admit that other cultures have some gorgeous things to share. I had to shift my mindset away from my own characters; I had to make these women accurate, especially to the medium that I took them from (whether comics, movies, books, etc.), and I had to learn to tag my posts correctly so others would see them. (I also realized that I have a thing for Star Wars characters... but that's more of a personal realization than an artistic one.)

2) Varying the poses and perspective.

I used to love drawing dynamic poses, but when I started college I got more into fine-art type subjects. People sitting still, portraits, standing, what-have-you. I initially wanted to become a comic book artist in high school, so I'd spent a lot of time drawing dynamic, moving figures. Did I do a perfect job? Absolutely the heck not. A lot of my pieces are very still and head-on -- which isn't inherently bad! I wanted to showcase the character and make her the center of attention. But people can only stand a couple different ways before it gets stale, you know?

3) Placing them in recognizable, sensible backgrounds. 

Sometimes the backgrounds were no-brainers, and other times I was scratching my head, thinking, "What am I going to draw..." I personally hate painting backgrounds -- all my characters seem to live in the void -- but the challenge was a great way to face that fear head-on. What are "trees"? What is "perspective"? If it's not people I usually don't want to draw it. But I HAD to, so, you know. I did.

YOUR PERSONAL 30-DAY CHALLENGE

I could ramble on for hours about how much I learned from the challenge! But I'm not here to overanalyze my own challenge, I'm here to encourage you to do your own. Now I'm not saying you have to do exactly what I did and preplan a bunch of characters and do a full illustration every day. I just got lucky that the entire country got put in lockdown to make me sit down and just FINISH it. Trust me, it got super tedious after a while, especially on the days where I just wasn't happy with my drawing. But I did it anyway.

Taking thirty days to do a challenge of any kind is enough to teach you quite a bit. It's been said that it takes 21 days to make a habit, though I don't know how accurate that might necessarily be. Regardless, you're bound to learn a couple of things if you just sit down every day for a month and do that routine. You could say that you'll spend thirty days drawing a sheep in thirty different ways. You could do a logo a day, or a sketchy portrait a day, or a gesture a day. It doesn't have to be massive. It just has to be achievable, and you have to want to achieve it. 

Here's my advice on creating your own 30-day challenge:

1) Make it something you're passionate about.

I LOVE drawing people. And I hadn't done much intentional portfolio-building since I graduated. I knew that I wanted to specialize in character art, so I thought "what better way to do that than draw characters people already know and love?" Additionally, drawing well-established characters in popular works of fiction was a good way to build my social media following a bit... guess who I got that from?

These thirty-day challenges aren't just applicable to "traditional" art forms, or even art itself. You could sew something small, or create a pair of earrings, or do cardio, every day. I know cardio is a weird thing to put on that list, but you need to take care of yourself physically too, and I know I could use more exercise. I'm about as active as a slug.

2) Make it something achievable.

I'm not in school right now, nor am I in full-time work. And with the quarantines, I've been stuck at home a lot. These conditions gave me a lot of free time to sit down and do full illustrations. Depending on your schedule, you might not have a ton of free time. If you need to, make it smaller. Draw on a post-it note every day, or draw one facial expression every day. Whatever it is, make it something you can realistically accomplish; that way, you won't feel as overwhelmed by the amount of work you've dished out for yourself. 

3) Intentionally want to achieve it.

You can have the best intentions, but the most important thing you need to do is sit down and DO it. It's an elementary concept, and yet... I don't want to sit down and do it. But having structure is vital to complete these sorts of things. Life is full of deadlines that don't care about your feelings, so sit your butt down and DO it. Set alarms. Stay awake later if you have to. Of course, I'm not saying you SHOULD deprive yourself of sleep... but sometimes the annoyance of staying awake to finish something might make you finish it earlier in the day. I know it did for me...

If nothing else, take the challenge to be intentionally kind, or to reach out to someone. 

You never know what a thirty-day habit might do for you.

Being an artist is a struggle. Many artists are naturally introspective -- we're a little more in touch with our inner selves and how we feel/react to the things around us. And due to the personal nature of our work, we view our creation as an extension of ourselves, and rightfully so. There's nothing wrong with caring deeply about the work you create. But too often it leads the average artist to compare among ourselves.

LEARNING AND INSPIRATION

There's nothing wrong with learning from or admiring the work of others. 

When I see Jin Kim's work, I just want to rub my face all over it while saying "my precioussss" in a Gollum voice. He inspires me to learn and improve. I see how fluid his work is, and I dream of achieving the same level of effortless beauty. Any artist you admire should push you to be inspired and to learn -- there's always room to grow. Finding the greats in your field should make you feel happy as you look at their work, and it should spur something inside of you that says "I'm gonna sit down and practice so I can be like them someday". 

It's important to remember that you can't be them, but you can use them as role models to become the best artist that you can be. We don't need another Jin Kim, Dan Gerhartz, Jake Parker, or Brittney Lee. We need new, unique perspectives and skillsets that are inspired by them. These people are already making their mark on character visual development, fine art, comic art, and papercutting, respectively. I like character visdev, but I have a completely different perspective to offer from Jin Kim, full of my own influences that can reach a completely different audience.

COMPARISON

Teddy Roosevelt said that comparison is the thief of joy, and he's certainly right. 

Due to life existing and proceeding in linear, baffling fashion, I've been cooped up in my house for the past several days with the quarantines. I graduated from college and now I'm trying to get into grad school. With all the quiet and lack of busyness and routine, I've had WAY too much time to think about my own life and how I'm perceived.

You'll recognize these questions:

      1) Am I good enough (for X thing/for X people)?

      2) Do people like me/my art?

      3) Am I trying hard enough?

You could probably distill these questions into subpoint after subpoint, especially if you can't leave the house and you've been marinating in the questions like baby-back ribs in a crockpot. Sometimes having free time sucks.

HOW DO I CONQUER THESE PERSISTENT QUESTIONS?

In hindsight, I'm probably one of the least qualified people to answer this. I've had a weird history with self-worth, and right now this is one of my biggest struggles. But hopefully I can try to help you out! Let's look at them individually.

1) Am I good enough (for X thing/for X people)?

This is probably one of the most annoying questions your brain spits at you because "good enough" is SO subjective. Art itself is already subjective, and being "good enough" in the art realm is such a nebulous concept that I'd rather give myself a concussion than hear the quibbling again from my annoying brain. My current struggle is waiting to hear back from the Graduate Art Committee of the school I applied to. I have no idea who's on the committee, and I have no idea where I stand with these people since I have no idea who they are. I love not knowing what's going on! (I hope you catch the lethal amounts of sarcasm in that last statement.)

Am I good enough for grad school? Well, who knows? Who's to decide that? (Besides the admissions team, I mean.) To conquer the persistent nagging, I have to constantly remind myself of things people have said to me. I'm a screenshot and message hoarder because I like to go back and reread things people have said to me. I'd spoken to one of my teachers about applying to grad school, and one of the things they said to me was that they thought I would make a good teacher. I want to get my MFA to teach at a college level someday, and to hear it from someone I trusted and admired was just so overwhelmingly sweet that I got an instant toothache. 

My point is this: it's okay to hold on to things people have told you. If that's what it takes to continue having faith to press forward, then use what you can. That's how I have to force my old habits of self-doubt to stop, and I have to replace the self-doubt with the repeating mantra that other people believe in me, even if I don't believe in me.

Another subpoint of the whole thing is "am I good enough for X people?" Let's face reality here: Anyone who shuns you because you're not "good enough" for their standards isn't worth being around -- they won't encourage you to grow for the right reasons. Trust me, I want to impress so many different people -- underclassmen, teachers, classmates, the people around me (and, of course, the grad school people). It's a constant struggle not to work for approval or praise. But the people worth being around will cheer you on regardless of where you are on your artistic and personal journeys -- they want you to succeed. They don't have a "reputation" for you to threaten.

2) Do people like me/my art?

Ah, another tough one! With the rise of social media creators, it's tempting to compare yourself to others of your "caliber" -- i.e., those in your grade, or artists you know, or artists you follow. It doesn't help that most social media platforms are based on a "likes" system. You're at the mercy of the algorithm and whether or not people hit that follow button (and if your followers like or share your work). I'll take the blame on this one; I use both my personal and art Instagram accounts to look at memes and very rarely to look at the posts my friends make -- it's a habit I'm trying to break.

It's very easy to lose track of how far you've come as an artist if you're only looking at yourself as compared to other social media users. And you could expand that to classmates or coworkers, too. It's very easy to feel inadequate. They say you should never be the smartest one in the room, which is generally good advice, but it gets very draining when you feel like you have to perform all the time.

When I start getting down on myself, I tend to go back through my old artwork to see where I've come from. If there's anyone that I recommend you to compare yourself to, compare with past-artist-you. If you're putting in the effort to improve, you'll always be better than you were yesterday. I've kept most of, if not all of, my work all the way back from when I was, like, five. My work is (naturally) better now post-grad than it was sixteen years ago (at least one would HOPE). It's a bit of a drastic comparison, but sometimes just having a good laugh about what your art used to look like is enough to snap you out of the funk.

3) Am I trying hard enough?

This is the ever-elusive standard -- enough. How hard is too hard? I covered this a bit in my post Art or Die. I won't rehash my entire post, but I'll leave you with this: Be better today than you were yesterday, and you will have succeeded in trying hard enough. And this isn't limited to getting better at art -- be a better person today than you were yesterday, and that's even more important than mastering anatomy or color theory or composition. Be the reason that someone smiles, and be the reason someone grows a little more.

TO SUM IT UP

I'll summarize my main points here.

1) Am I good enough (for X thing/for X people)?

a) Yes, you are! Take the time to remember what people have told you in the past -- read old emails, texts, or notes to remind yourself that you're worth it. You don't lose any inherent value based on other people's opinions. And if anyone sees you as less-than-human because you're not "good enough", go find people who'll treat you right.

2) Do people like me/my art?

a) I can't speak for other people, but it's more important that you like you and your art. Look back at your older work to remind yourself of that. Ultimately, you have to be pleased with your own work before you can seek approval or validation from someone else. You were given the passion and creativity for a reason, so use it!

3) Am I trying hard enough?

a) Are you better than you were before (artistically and personally)? Then yes, you're trying hard enough. It's a daily battle, not a one-time thing. Sometimes you'll slip backward, but you only fail if you stay there.

On March 14th, my college closed for the semester due to the COVID-19 panic, and they switched over entirely to online learning. While this might not seem like a huge deal to the regular underclassman, it was a crushing blow to all of my classmates. Art is something that's hard to teach online, especially the more tactile classes like package design and sculpting. I had a good cry over the phone with my friends about the school closing. As of right now, all the art shows (the capstone event of the studio art and graphic design majors) have been canceled, and May's commencement is on the fritz.

To those unfamiliar with the college and its educational requirements, this may not seem to be a big problem. Putting up an art show is a lot of work, and at first it might seem like it would be a relief to remove that source of stress from your life. But if you've been a creative for any amount of time, you know that as a rule of thumb, that the art someone creates is often a piece of their soul and identity, especially if it was created for a senior art exhibit (which is meant to be the crowning achievement and show of your increased skill and understanding of your major). It's similar to a computer science student's senior software expo, or a music student's senior recital. It's the culmination of four hard years of work. And at my school, the art show is a social event. There's food and the opportunity to meet the artists behind the work hanging on the wall. All in all, the senior art exhibits are arguably more important than commencement itself -- it's the collegiate artist's first true gallery experience.

My friends put together a ton of work to pass their show check (the preliminary step that occurs two weeks before the actual scheduled show date, which was March 27th). They created each piece, framed them with love, picked out a little book for guests to sign, and invitations to pass out. Some made business cards, some made stickers, some made pieces to sell. And to have it all ripped away was heartbreaking. I'd lucked out, graduating in December. I got to display my work and receive the recognition for the elbow grease I put in. But after they all passed their show check on the 13th, they found out they all needed to go home.

I hash all this out for a couple of reasons. 

WHAT SHOULD YOU BE FEELING?

My heart aches for all my fellow students -- not just at my alma mater, but also across the country. I've seen a general outcry and outpouring of grief on social media. I've called my friends and cried with them. This is clearly something huge to those who've worked so hard. I'm not ignoring all the other majors; I'm just speaking as an art kid to the art kids. I want to remind them that feeling isn't something that they shouldn't be experiencing. It's okay to be upset about the whole thing!

WHY ARE ARTISTS SO EMOTIONAL?

Artists have always been painted (haha) as the emotional type, which is true to a certain extent. Art is the extension of their personality (and for some, their identity), and what they create will always essentially be a part of them. Emotions are a funny thing, and they're often hard to manage; even something as simple as a critiquing comment on a piece I'm really proud of can just weigh me down. Of course, you have to gauge how much feeling is appropriate; paper skin is no good to anyone. But without the passion, feeling, and personal interpretation behind a piece, there's very little that gives it value; otherwise, you're just creating a copy when you might as well not be making it at all.

WHAT CAN YOU DO WITH ALL THESE CONFUSING, NEGATIVE EMOTIONS?

No one likes feeling these feelings. They're annoying, frustrating, irrational (to an extent), and they generally just get in the way of life. If I could ask my friends individually, I'd bet that none of them want to experience any of these feelings of hostility, frustration, depression... the list goes on. It's hard to deal with such a staggering change of plan, especially when none of it is in your control, and when the plans you'd made were so very important to you. I personally banked a TON on commencement happening (it's not been officially cancelled, but you can never be sure). And it's very hard to say goodbye to people you'd spent years of your life with, creating art and learning together and making plenty of fond memories. 

So what can you do with these frustrating feelings? The answer is simple. In Neil Gaiman's words, make good art.

HOW DO I MAKE GOOD ART?

1) Take care of yourself. 

Give yourself time to adjust to new surroundings, new quarantines, new lifestyles. You have to adjust to your online classes, and maybe you have to go to work now at a different job. Or maybe you're stuck at home in your PJs and tied to your laptop. Either way, your physical health matters most. Have you gotten enough rest or drunk enough water recently? Take care of that first.

2) Take a minute to settle down and consider your perspective. 

Are you safe? Then make sure to be grateful. Are you healthy? Be grateful for that too. Take a moment to count your blessings. Sometimes the blessing is just that you're still alive, and if that's all you can find, then that's okay. Just find something positive to remember and to focus on. A hyperfixation on negativity will only degrade your quality of life as well as your art. A healthy, balanced perspective of the "evil and the good" is necessary for visibly good, balanced art. Some people hold on to trauma or sadness for so long that it becomes part of their identity; they don't know how to function without it.

3) Choose a message you want to convey, and decide why you want to convey it. 

Are you frustrated and hurting? Maybe you want others to know they're not alone. Are you thankful to be safe? Maybe you want to spread that feeling of comfort and peace to someone else. Are you baffled by the world and living in a chapter of a "World History" book from 2030? Maybe you want to chronicle the reality of the times you live in. Don't sit around and make art for no reason -- it's okay to do that occasionally, but don't let it become a habit. You were given those skills for a reason -- make it a good one.

4) Take your medium of choice and make it.

A word of caution: Remember that it's more important to make it "finished, not perfect" (wise words from Jake Parker). Finish it. Even if it's not good, try to finish it, and take the mistakes from the first time around and learn from them for the next time. You don't always have to share the work you make on social media. Sometimes you just need to hold on to it on a hard drive or in a shoebox under your bed. Either way, choose to grow artistically through these hard times. But don't forget to grow in your relationships with other people too.

ISOLATION IN THE ARTIST'S LIFE

We joke that the quarantines don't affect the introverts, haha, top-notch humor. But it's very easy for the artist (especially the introverted artist) to simply turn into a hermit in these troubling times (where if you cough within a mile of someone you'll immediately get shot). Reach out to your friends and the people you care about. They're likely struggling too, and some more than you. And if you're struggling more than some, reach out for help. These people are in your life for a reason, and if they're good friends, then they'll want to help you. 

This is no time to isolate.

Wait, let me check my notes.

...

This might be time to physically isolate, but this is no time to stop building relationships. Art grows best in a community; don't let your community fall away from you. No man is an island, so don't start now.

TO SUM IT ALL UP

As I wrap this up, I have some key reminders. 

1) It's okay to feel the way you do.
2) Check your perspective.
3) Be deliberate in your creativity.
4) Don't isolate yourself from your support system.

And finally, in times of grief, make good art.

We've all met that one person that's WAY too enthusiastic about what they do, to the point where they don't know how to exist without it. It doesn't have to be art specifically; let's look at more common examples. There's that one guy who loves Marvel so much that he can't talk to someone without trying to insert it somewhere in the conversation, or that girl who posts WAY too many pictures of her boyfriend on social media. As I described these people, super generically, you probably thought of the obsessive person in your own life (which might be you; don't exclude yourself from that mix. I can get that way too).

Of course, you have to have some passion for something. Life isn't meant to be lived without passion. You have to care about something, someone; whoever or whatever varies from person to person in varying degrees. But I've noticed that if I'm not careful, I can get obsessed with stuff super easily to the point where it's all I ever want to talk about, be it art, a good TV show, a specific person (celebrity or not) or set of people, or a trip I'm planning to take. Being an artist takes a lot of balance, and it's not something that comes naturally.

As a high schooler, I was obsessed with fiction and fandoms, specifically Doctor Who, Marvel, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and so on. I was ravenous in my search for information and I loved to connect with people who liked the same things I did. All that is fine and dandy for a fifteen-year-old; it's an awkward phase in life, and I'll admit it was better for me than trying to date at that age or just mindlessly scrolling on social media (which is something I struggle with now). But, as an adult trying to get into an artist's job (so to speak), balance becomes key more than ever.

ART OR DIE.

If we peeled open an artist's skeleton, we'd probably see they're composed of crayons and Wacom tablets and various paintbrushes. Art runs through our bones, and creativity is what makes our blood red. We have to see the world through an artist's eyes because that's not something easily shut off (if you can shut it off at all). 

When you're first starting out as a professional, trying to get into the industry of your choice, it's back-breaking. Let's take a look at my own life. My final semester was mostly just a flurry of panic and trying to get things done. I'm pretty good at managing my time and getting things done, and I did just fine, but a lot of my time was spent just working and working and working and working and working and working... you get the point. I'd say a good 90% of my time was spent just working on my senior exhibit, on my school projects, and just generally trying to get better.

As a student, your life is so fast-paced and time-constrained that 90% doesn't seem that weird. But as soon as you come home, or the flurry stops,  you realize how WIPED you are, and how much you needed to rest. When I finished my biggest project for the semester, I caught the flu on the last day of classes -- I was bedridden for two days. When I finished the semester in December, I managed to catch, immediately, all of the January crud that had been floating around -- congestion, an extremely sore throat, an ear infection, pinkeye. I even temporarily lost my hearing in one ear. 

How do you keep from dying, when there's so much to be done? And how do you know when to slow down, or even stop? There's no magic formula for "how much art is too much". It's different for every person. But I'll go so far as to say you can't maintain 90% forever, and that you shouldn't.

WHY ARE YOU WORKING?

There's a very real and present danger to the "why" of your creativity. There are plenty of reasons to work so hard. Sometimes it's your grades; sometimes it's just that you want to be better; sometimes it's because you need to put food on the table. Exposure doesn't pay the bills. There's no real wrong answer to why you create, unless it's to put someone down or to otherwise "destroy" instead of build -- destruction befits no creator.

WHO ARE YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR CREATIONS?

Nosce te (lorem) ipsum; the artist's "know thyself". (Fun fact: "lorem" is not in the original phrase, nor is it a true Latin word; it is instead short for the Latin "dolorem", which means "pain, suffering, or sorrow." Art is pain, eh?) 

Your identity shouldn't be rooted in art and art only. One day you may not be able to hold a pencil or look at a screen, and it would be a shame to lose who you are in those years (I mean, let's just look at Doctor Strange -- fiction, but very much human, no?). You are more than what you make, or where you work, or how famous you are. 

WHAT IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR ART?

Two things: Your health, and the people that surround you.

1) Let's look at health. I've been battling tendonitis for several years, and I seriously wrecked my right arm during my final semester. I had a wrist brace, kinesiology tape, ice, you name it. My eyesight is trash. And I still needed to get things done. But if art is leading you to lose too much sleep, or it keeps you from eating, or it takes its toll on your body, take a moment to reconsider. Your grades matter, and your productivity matters. But you will be useless when you are unwell or injured. Take the time to rest, and when you've recovered, start again. Your art will thank you for it. Trust me, I hated to rest my wrist; I felt so antsy and unhappy, not being able to draw or write or type or play the piano. But it forced me to step back and reconsider what was important. 

2) Now let's look at the people around you. There will come a day where you cannot draw, or cannot paint, or cannot 3D model. But you will always be surrounded by people, whether in the workforce, or in your home, or in your place of worship, or in your community, or in your classes. The world is composed of others, and it's in your best interest to concern yourself with them. They have a lot to offer, even the non-artists. You can't always rely on yourself, and if you cherish and build your relationships with other people, you can turn to them in hard times. You'll never be alone -- turn that into a reason for relief, not a threat.

So, art or die?

Get enough sleep, take care of your body, and be good to the people around you. Once you know you've covered those bases, then create away.

It's a heavy question. Should you, or should you not go to art school? There's no easy definitive answer, and most people know that it's different for each person. I'm not here to debate the semantics of YES ART SCHOOL vs NO ART SCHOOL, it's more of an examination of what your goal is.

I'm a graduate of art school myself (B.S. in Visual Arts, Studio Art concentration, December 2019). I attended Pensacola Christian College in Pensacola, Florida, and I personally loved art school. I was self-taught throughout elementary, middle, and high school, and when I saw they were hosting an academic camp for their art program in 2015, I absolutely HAD to go, which sealed the deal for my college career. I knew I wanted to go to college, I just didn't know where, and when the opportunity came up, I seized it by the horns and rode that sucker for all I had. As a plucky child of seventeen, I didn't really know what specifically I wanted to do as an artist; I just knew I liked to draw, and I wanted to get better at it and make a living off it someday. 

WHY DID I WANT TO GO TO ART SCHOOL?

I just assumed that art school would make me better at art, and that when I graduated I would be competitive in my chosen field. I did, in fact, get better at art while I was in art school, and to a degree (in Visual Arts! Haha, I crack myself up) I am pretty competitive in my chosen field. It was worth every penny. However, what I didn't totally realize was how diverse art gets. I got a very broad artistic education at PCC, and it definitely leveled me up, but it didn't specialize enough for me.

Why do YOU want to go to art school? Do you just want to "get better"? I mean, education will definitely educate you (wow, I have such a way with words!), but if you don't have a specific goal, you'll end up floundering around a bit at best, or drop out at worst. Your goal determines how effective your chosen school will be at helping you grow into your artistic goals.

WHAT GOAL SHOULD I HAVE HAD?

In hindsight, I should have had a more specific goal when I started college. However, there wasn't really a way for me to have found that more specific goal. I was seventeen, fresh out of high school, and no one in my immediate circle were artists, really. I mean, we all doodle and color and play with paint, but I didn't know anyone who took art seriously to the point that I took it. Because of that lack of guidance, I didn't discover the field I wanted to specialize in until my senior year of college.

Here's the thing. My college never claimed to specialize in anything; in fact, their whole pitch is that they give you a well-rounded education. And that they did! I learned a ton of stuff, especially the fundamentals of art and having the right philosophy about art, creativity, and whatnot. No one at my school specializes in character design as of the writing of this post, so I felt that once I graduated, I wouldn't stay for grad school at PCC since they didn't have anyone who knew how to do what I wanted to do.

WHAT ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT FACTORS TO CONSIDER WHEN CHOOSING AN ART SCHOOL?

One word: FUNDAMENTALS.

As a graduate, I can look back and see how absolutely foundational the fundamentals are. Yes, I'm talking about stuff like color theory, anatomy, a correct understanding of values and edges, the ability to convey convincing realism, etc. You have to master the rules before you break them, a common mistake that I made as a young(er) artist. (I'm just barely twenty-one so I can't really say I'm old.)

The popular consensus, especially amongst the "un-artistic" population, is that "anything is art". I've heard that hundreds of times throughout the years, and it always makes me roll my eyes (the most recent time was a homeless guy in the park who was probably a little tweaked out). There's something inside every person that looks at a banana taped to a wall and thinks, "That's not art..." Things like Comedian (the $120k banana) and Monogram (taxidermied goat with a tire-belt) are so permanently etched into the mind of the populace as "art", which is a shame on art in general. The whole point of creating is conveying a specific message. If you just slap some paint on a canvas without a purpose behind it, you're wasting your time, essentially. You know what art is, though? Embroidery, sculpture, architecture, furniture design, interior decorating, photography, advertisements, music videos, video games... the list goes on. Oh, yeah, and painting and drawing too. 

When choosing an art school, make sure they teach the fundamentals, especially if you lack knowledge, practice, or understanding of the fundamentals. I sort of understood composition and anatomy as a freshman, but I also learned about value, edges, color theory (which is still kinda nebulous in my head), proportion, realism, texture, emphasis... (sorry Mr. Digangi, it's been a while since Design Fundamentals, I'm a bit fuzzy on the list). 

Learning the fundamentals will make you a better artist overall. If you're not a pro in the industry already, you will always find someone better than you at color theory, or anatomy, or composition. Take the opportunity to learn from these people, even if some of them are insufferable. Don't just learn from the teachers either; other students have a lot to teach you, though not in such a formalized setting (even if that "something" to teach you is just not to punch them in the face; believe me, I learned that one VERY well).

I mentioned something about art philosophy in the previous section. Everyone has a philosophy about art, whether or not they know how to articulate it. It's that nagging feeling in your gut that says, "Wow, that piece is beautiful!" vs "Ew, that's trash". A good art school will be able to articulate their philosophy of art, and it should be sensible. Not just some mumbo-jumbo about "anything that you make is art". You're looking for something like this: "You should be good at using the materials you use, and you should be able to convey a clear message of some kind". 

DID ART SCHOOL MAKE ME A BETTER ARTIST?

Of course! My teachers were phenomenal and I learned many valuable skills while I was there, including but not limited to photography, painting in three different mediums, and print design. If I didn't have the rounded, broad art education I have now, my art would look nothing like it does now. I spent every penny in good confidence, and I was rewarded for the work that I put in.

However, there's a catch. If you want to get good in a very specific field, you can't just get a broad education.

You don't need a degree to make it in the art world. Sometimes all you need is paper, pencil, and a stable internet connection. A degree wouldn't exactly hurt, either. But if you want to specialize, determine that ahead of time, and get a game plan together. 

HOW DO I GET A GAME PLAN TOGETHER?

1) Establish your field of choice.

I discovered visual development as a field in my senior year of college. I knew it existed; I just didn't know the name for it. I'd always just called it concept art. Don't end up like me, if you can! Determine your field and decide whether or not it fits for you. I thought I wanted to go into illustration, but concept art just called my name.

2) Find industry giants you can study.

I dug into the field of character visual development and found some artists I could look up to, specifically Jin Kim and Cory Loftis. Recently, I've also been following Jake Parker, creator of Inktober as well as his podcast Three-Point Perspective (I prefer to listen on Spotify). 

Make sure you pick the field before you find your industry giants. I used to try to study artists like N.C. Wyeth and Alphonse Mucha because I liked their art, but what can classical illustration and art nouveau do for the concept art industry? Not much compared to the work of actual concept artists. Other art forms have a lot to offer you as a growing artist, so take what you can get, but don't slow yourself down by studying the wrong people.

The struggle with following other artists is that when you're in college, your life will probably get so busy that finding the time to study them may come at the cost of missing a meal or a precious hour or five of sleep. I didn't have time to listen to a podcast or binge Jake Parker's YouTube channel; I had projects to finish and students to check on (I was a resident assistant), and I also worked my way through college. Make sure you prioritize rest and food over art. It's not supposed to be "art or die". 

3) Decide whether you want to learn in an online or classroom setting.

A lot of good education can be found for significantly cheaper online. There's nothing like the pressure of an actual physical college experience to make you better (my capstone was my senior art exhibit, which was pass/fail), but if you don't have the time or energy (or money) for a physical college experience, you can benefit from online learning, with such websites as Skillshare, Society of Visual Storytelling, and more. 

If you're looking for a physical college experience, visit your colleges if possible, and talk to the faculty about the learning process, and sit in on several classes. If possible, ask the instructors which students are best to ask questions of. Maybe ask a student or two about the class to get a learner's perspective. Otherwise, try to email professors at that college and ask them about it. If you email the promotional teams, they'll just try to sell you on it, which is their job.

REMEMBER THIS: Regardless of whether you learn online or in a classroom, none of it matters if you don't put some elbow grease into it. Don't kill yourself over your projects: a dead artist is no good, after all. But becoming a good artist is 10% instruction/outside influences, and 90% you actually putting it into action.

SO SHOULD I GO TO ART SCHOOL?

I love how inconclusive this post is! The answer is "it's really up to you". No one can make the decision for you. But if you want to grow as an artist, and to grow fast, art school is probably for you. (Unless you're not done with high school yet, in which case you should probably graduate high school before you go to college. Not gonna be dogmatic about it, but I think it'll be easier to do that first.)

When you pick an art school, be sure to pick one that will teach you the fundamentals, and that has a very clear art philosophy. And while you're learning the fundamentals, apply them to the field of your dreams. This isn't a recipe for instant stardom; it is, however, a recipe for instant improvement. And we all like that, don't we?