Sigo regularmente varios canales de artistas de cómic en redes sociales y podcasts, y si hay un tema que surge con cierta frecuencia, tanto en estos medios como en conversaciones con colegas, es el de la inspiración y la motivación. Inspiración para saber lo que quieres hacer con tu arte y para hacerlo lo major posible, y motivación para dedicarle el tiempo y esfuerzo que necesita – un recurso escaso sobre todo para autores con proyectos personales, sin ninguna garantía de éxito, y sin ningún beneficio en el proceso.
La verdad es que en la actualidad me suena raro que la falta de inspiración o de motivación resulten un problema – suelo disponer de amplias reservas de ambas. Pero no quiero ser arrogante, yo también he sido joven, también he pasado por largos períodos de sequía creativa, durante los cuales no fluían ni las ideas ni las ganas. Como ejemplo, los casi 7 años que transcurrieron entre los números 3 y 4 de Huérfanos, en los que me concentré tanto en mi carrera profesional "oficial" que dejé mi pasión de toda la vida por los cómics relegada a un segundísimo plano.
Y como es habitual, todo lo que hacía durante aquellos periodos era esperar a que la inspiración y las ganas aparecieran por arte de magia. Un plan que como es de suponer, no dio buenos resultados.
Por eso, porque he estado en los dos lados de esa aparente barrera entre la creatividad y el bloqueo, puedo atreverme a afirmar sin despeinarme que cualquier artista (o que aspire a serlo) que se queje de falta de ideas o de motivación, lo que es un PUTO VAGO.
Vamos a llamar a las cosas por su nombre: si llevo dibujando desde que tenía 8 años, tengo 41, y el grueso de mi obra artística apenas llena tres carpetas, no hay excusas que valgan para justificar lo evidente, y es que he sido un puto vago durante mucho tiempo. Si solo una fracción de todas las ideas que tenía las hubiera plasmado, aunque fuera en proyectos o bocetos, mi portafolio creativo habría tenido un volumen considerable a los 20 años.
La realidad es que a esa edad mi única obra digna era La canción de la lluvia. Aquellas 64 páginas de historia (de las que por lo demás me siento muy orgulloso) me llevaron nada menos que 3 años. Y casi la mitad de ellas las dibujé en el verano de 1995 porque me lo propuse por una cuestión de orgullo.
Cuando los autores a los que sigo hablan de este tema, suelen recurrir al elemental consejo de que el artista tiene que dibujar todos los días, por poco tiempo que pueda dedicarle, o por malo que sea el resultado. Que si uno persiste todos los días, cada vez encuentra menos resistencia, le sale mejor, y se encuentra más motivado. Que la diferencia entre triunfar y fracasar es seguir intentándolo o rendirse. Que ninguna idea caída del cielo sustituye al trabajo duro. Que como dijo Edison: el genio es 1% inspiración y 99% transpiración. O Picasso: que la inspiración te encuentre trabajando. Etcétera.
Yo voy a ser mucho menos condescendiente y bienintencionado que todos estos autores. Todos esos consejos están muy bien – pero son un montón de chorradas.
El artista no necesita consejos. El artista que quiere serlo se pone a dibujar todos los días sin pensar en ello. No necesita discursos motivadores ni técnicas de productividad. Es un artista desde que se levanta hasta que se acuesta. Y muchos seguramente siguen soñando con su trabajo mientras duermen.
Uno de mis artículos favoritos sobre este tema lo leí en Cracked y explicaba que el verbo "querer" realmente puede significar dos ideas completamente diferentes. En la primera, representaría el deseo general de que algo suceda, mientras que la segunda es la intención específica que ese deseo se cumpla – apoyado en acciones concretas. Por ejemplo, una persona que diga "quiero estar en forma" mientras se come unos nachos en su sofá, o un corredor que diga lo mismo cuando sale a correr 10 km cada día, seguramente están transmitiendo cosas muy distintas.
Me acordé de aquel artículo en Cracked cuando, el primer día de clase en la Escuela Joso, el profesor preguntó cuántos de nosotros queríamos ser profesionales del cómic – y prácticamente todos levantamos la mano. Pero cuando pregunto cada sábado a mis compañeros si han dibujado mucho durante la semana, en muchos casos su respuesta es alguna variación de "no he tenido tiempo" o "no estaba inspirado". Nuevamente, "querer" (cuando nos preguntaron si "queríamos" ser artistas profesionalmente) significa cosas diferentes para cada persona.
Pero no quiero ser cruel con mis compañeros. Ni con el resto de amigos y conocidos con los que me he cruzado a lo largo de estos años, que envidiaban mi dedicación a los cómics pero que se reconocían incapaces de dedicar el mismo esfuerzo a sus proyectos. Ninguno de ellos estaba mintiendo cuando decía que "quería" hacer tal o cual cosa. Yo tampoco miento cuando digo que "quiero" ser millonario – es solo que no estoy haciendo muchos esfuerzos en ese sentido.
Yo he sido uno de ellos durante mucho tiempo. Tenía el deseo general de dibujar cómics, pero nunca era mi prioridad. Como el resto de gente, prefería tirarme a ver series, leer cómics, quedar con mis amigos, jugar a videojuegos, dormir, o lo que sea que la gente prefiere hacer antes que pasarse horas dibujando, sin saber qué vas a sacar de ello.
Hasta que decidí que ya no iba a seguir relegando permanentemente mi sueño. "Quería" dibujar cómics. Así que eso es lo que hice: me puse a dibujar. Y no he parado de hacerlo desde entonces. El resto es historia.
Tengo una vida como la de mucha gente. Estoy casado, tengo un trabajo a jornada completa, hago ejercicio regularmente, veo la televisión, leo libros y cómics, voy al cine, quedo con mis amigos y pertenezco a una asociación. Tengo todas las razones del mundo para no tener tiempo o ganas de ponerme a dibujar, y una sola para hacerlo.
Quiero dibujar cómics.
El abismo que separa una idea atractiva de su ejecución (el 1% del 99%) es tal que la mayoría nunca llega a superarlo. Seguramente el porcentaje de los que superan el 99% de transpiración necesario para llegar al éxito sea del 1%, o menos.
Y esto, por desgracia, es como tiene que ser. Solo una pequeña parte de los que aspiran al éxito pueden llegar a conseguirlo. No hay suficientes plazas para todos los que lo "quieren" (en el sentido "correr 10 km todos los días") ni mucho menos para los que lo "quieren" (en el sentido "nachos en el sofá"). Estos últimos van a quedar fuera en la primera ronda.
Los otros, simplemente nunca vamos a dejar de intentarlo.
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I regularly follow several channels of comic artist in social networks and podcasts, and if there is a topic that comes up quite often, either on these media or in conversations with colleagues, is the issue of inspiration and motivation. Inspiration to know what you want to do with your art and to do it as good as possible, motivation to put in the time and effort required – a scarce resource, especially for artists with personal projects, with no guarantee of success, and no benefits along the way.
The truth is, now I find weird that the lack of either inspiration or motivation are a problem – since I have ample supplies of both. But I don't want to be arrogant. I was young once, I've had long periods of creative drought, during which I had no flow of ideas or felt like drawing. As an example, the nearly 7 years that happened between issues 3 and 4 issues of Orphans, where I focused so much on my "official" career that I left my lifelong passion for comics on the far background.
And, as it usually happens, all I did during those long periods, was wait for the inspiration and the desire to magically appear. A plan that, as expected, didn't work out so well.
So, since I've been in both sides of that apparent barrier between creativity and block, I may dare to state without muss that any artist (or aspiring so) who complains about a lack of ideas or motivation – is plain fucking lazy.
Let's call a spade a spade: if I've been drawing since I was 8, I'm 41, and the bulk of my artwork can fit in just three folders, no excuses can justify the obvious, which is that I have been fucking lazy for a long time. If only a fraction of all the ideas that I had would've been captured, either in sketches or actual projects, my creative portfolio would have a considerable volume at age 20.
The reality is that at that age my only decent work was The Rain Song. That 64-page story (which otherwise makes me very proud) took me three years no less to complete. And I drew almost half of them in the summer of 1995 because I made a point to finish it as a matter of pride.
When the authors I follow talk about this subject, they often resort to an elementary piece of advice: that the artist has to draw every day, no matter how short a time she can do it, or how bad the result. That if you persist every day, you increasingly meet less resistance, the result comes out better, and you feel more motivated. That the difference between success and failure is whether you keep trying or give up. That no idea coming from above replaces hard work. That as Edison said, genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. Or Picasso: may inspiration find you working. Etc.
I will be much less patronizing, well-meaning that all these authors. All these tips are fine - but they are a lot of crap.
The artist doesn't need any advice. The artist who wants to be so draws every day without thinking about it. There is no need of motivational speeches and productivity techniques. He or she is an artist from sunrise until bedtime. Many probably still dreaming of their work while they sleep.
One of my favorite stories on this topic I read in Cracked and explained that the word "want" can actually mean two completely different ideas. In the first, it represents the general desire for something to happen, while the second is the specific intent that wish come true – supported through action. For example, a person who says "I want to be fit" while eating nachos on his couch, or a runner who say the same while jogging 10 km each day, are probably sending different messages.
I remembered that article from Cracked on my first day of class in the Joso Comic School, when the teacher asked how many of us wanted to be professional comic artists - and almost everyone raised their hands. But every Saturday when I ask my colleagues if they have been drawning during the week, in most cases the answer is some variation of "I did not have time" or "I was not inspired." Again, their "want" (when we asked if "wanted" to be artists professionally) means different things to different people.
But I do not want to be cruel to my classmates. Or to any other friends and colleagues I've encountered over the years, who envied my dedication to comics but they considered themselves unable to put in as much effort to their own projects. None of them was lying when they said they "wanted" to do this or that. I don't lie either when I say I "want" to be a millionaire - I'm just not making any efforts in this regard.
I have been there for a long time. I had the general desire to draw comics, but it was never my priority. Like everyone else, I'd rather watch TV shows, read comics, hang out with friends, play games, sleep, or whatever people would rather do do than spend hours on end drawing, not knowing what will you get out of it.
Until I decided I was not going to keep relegating my dream anymore. I "wanted" to draw comics. So that's what I did: I started drawing. And I have not stopped doing since. The rest is history.
I have a life just like many other people's. I'm married, I have a full time job, I exercise regularly, I watch TV, read books and comics, go to the movies, I meet my friends and I belong to an association. I have every reason not to have the time or desire to draw, and only one to do so.
I want to draw comics.
The gap between an attractive idea and its implementation (the 1% and the 99%) is such that most people never get over it. Surely the percentage of those getting over the 99% perspiration required for success is 1% – or less.
And this, unfortunately, is as it should be. Only a small part of those who aspire to success can actually achieve it. There are not enough places for all those who "want" it (meaning "run 10 km every day"), much less for those who "want" it (meaning "nachos on the couch"). The latter will be out in the first round.
The rest of us simply won't stop trying.
--
I regularly follow several channels of comic artist in social networks and podcasts, and if there is a topic that comes up quite often, either on these media or in conversations with colleagues, is the issue of inspiration and motivation. Inspiration to know what you want to do with your art and to do it as good as possible, motivation to put in the time and effort required – a scarce resource, especially for artists with personal projects, with no guarantee of success, and no benefits along the way.
The truth is, now I find weird that the lack of either inspiration or motivation are a problem – since I have ample supplies of both. But I don't want to be arrogant. I was young once, I've had long periods of creative drought, during which I had no flow of ideas or felt like drawing. As an example, the nearly 7 years that happened between issues 3 and 4 issues of Orphans, where I focused so much on my "official" career that I left my lifelong passion for comics on the far background.
And, as it usually happens, all I did during those long periods, was wait for the inspiration and the desire to magically appear. A plan that, as expected, didn't work out so well.
So, since I've been in both sides of that apparent barrier between creativity and block, I may dare to state without muss that any artist (or aspiring so) who complains about a lack of ideas or motivation – is plain fucking lazy.
Let's call a spade a spade: if I've been drawing since I was 8, I'm 41, and the bulk of my artwork can fit in just three folders, no excuses can justify the obvious, which is that I have been fucking lazy for a long time. If only a fraction of all the ideas that I had would've been captured, either in sketches or actual projects, my creative portfolio would have a considerable volume at age 20.
The reality is that at that age my only decent work was The Rain Song. That 64-page story (which otherwise makes me very proud) took me three years no less to complete. And I drew almost half of them in the summer of 1995 because I made a point to finish it as a matter of pride.
When the authors I follow talk about this subject, they often resort to an elementary piece of advice: that the artist has to draw every day, no matter how short a time she can do it, or how bad the result. That if you persist every day, you increasingly meet less resistance, the result comes out better, and you feel more motivated. That the difference between success and failure is whether you keep trying or give up. That no idea coming from above replaces hard work. That as Edison said, genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. Or Picasso: may inspiration find you working. Etc.
I will be much less patronizing, well-meaning that all these authors. All these tips are fine - but they are a lot of crap.
The artist doesn't need any advice. The artist who wants to be so draws every day without thinking about it. There is no need of motivational speeches and productivity techniques. He or she is an artist from sunrise until bedtime. Many probably still dreaming of their work while they sleep.
One of my favorite stories on this topic I read in Cracked and explained that the word "want" can actually mean two completely different ideas. In the first, it represents the general desire for something to happen, while the second is the specific intent that wish come true – supported through action. For example, a person who says "I want to be fit" while eating nachos on his couch, or a runner who say the same while jogging 10 km each day, are probably sending different messages.
I remembered that article from Cracked on my first day of class in the Joso Comic School, when the teacher asked how many of us wanted to be professional comic artists - and almost everyone raised their hands. But every Saturday when I ask my colleagues if they have been drawning during the week, in most cases the answer is some variation of "I did not have time" or "I was not inspired." Again, their "want" (when we asked if "wanted" to be artists professionally) means different things to different people.
But I do not want to be cruel to my classmates. Or to any other friends and colleagues I've encountered over the years, who envied my dedication to comics but they considered themselves unable to put in as much effort to their own projects. None of them was lying when they said they "wanted" to do this or that. I don't lie either when I say I "want" to be a millionaire - I'm just not making any efforts in this regard.
I have been there for a long time. I had the general desire to draw comics, but it was never my priority. Like everyone else, I'd rather watch TV shows, read comics, hang out with friends, play games, sleep, or whatever people would rather do do than spend hours on end drawing, not knowing what will you get out of it.
Until I decided I was not going to keep relegating my dream anymore. I "wanted" to draw comics. So that's what I did: I started drawing. And I have not stopped doing since. The rest is history.
I have a life just like many other people's. I'm married, I have a full time job, I exercise regularly, I watch TV, read books and comics, go to the movies, I meet my friends and I belong to an association. I have every reason not to have the time or desire to draw, and only one to do so.
I want to draw comics.
The gap between an attractive idea and its implementation (the 1% and the 99%) is such that most people never get over it. Surely the percentage of those getting over the 99% perspiration required for success is 1% – or less.
And this, unfortunately, is as it should be. Only a small part of those who aspire to success can actually achieve it. There are not enough places for all those who "want" it (meaning "run 10 km every day"), much less for those who "want" it (meaning "nachos on the couch"). The latter will be out in the first round.
The rest of us simply won't stop trying.
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