Stan Prokopenko and the Kangaroo-fetus Monster 

Sharing your failed attempts isn’t cringe, it’s generous.

Remember that time I wrote a post on halloween where I said I was gonna promote myself more and then I promptly fell off the face of the earth for 5 months?

Yeahhhh. Aren’t I silly?

But also, in case you missed my last post.

This happened.

Anyway, back when I thought it would be best to just shred myself right through the potato ricer of grief and continue on as if nothing had happened, I said something like if you create something you’re proud of, you should share it. Because that is generous.

But after compulsively unpacking everything I said in that post, as one does, I realized what’s ever more generous:

Sharing work you’re not proud of.

Hear me out.

I know all the very reasonable reasons for not doing this.

Specifically because it means being vulnerable.

On the internet.

Which is kind of like diving face first into a river of knives.

Maybe you’re thinking: “Wait, is this bitch trying to convince me to dive face first into a river of knives? There should have been a trigger warning!”

I’m not trying to convince you to do anything, I just want to tell you a story.

Yes, about a kangaroo fetus. Sort of.

If you aren’t familiar, Stan Prokopenko is an artist and (very) successful art teacher and is, at least by my standards, a master draftsman. Which is to say he has “mastered”-if that’s a thing and I don’t think it is- the craft of drawing.

But his online teaching tenure started with a livestream that…went…about as badly as I picture everything going

I encourage you to watch this clip where he tells the story himself,

but if you don’t get a chance, here’s a summary.

Dude starts a livestream about drawing from imagination, and he thinks he’s prepared because he has all these notes and ideas, but he forgot one kinda important thing…to be prepared to actually draw.

So, he says he started to draw some “kangaroo-type creature” and right away the thing starts going off the rails.

Let’s pause.

Is this a story about how he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was made for this, perhaps with a touching flashback from some beloved relative telling him to believe in himself, and he reeled it in and made an incredibly successful drawing that catapulted him to instant success?

No.

No, instead it just kept getting worse until the thing looked more like a deformed fetus than a kangaroo.

But-let me guess, people were kind and they reassured him that it wasn’t nearly as bad as he-

Nope.

It was worse.

By the next morning he was inundated with ridicule, including some brutal memes.

But here’s the point where the story changes because…

it just…didn’t phase him.

I mean, I would be in my closet under a pile of cats and empty beer bottles on zoom with my therapist…but not this guy.

No, he said he was a little worried that the phantom of the deformed kangaroo fetus would haunt his brand (okay, those are my words, but I can’t help picturing it as some terrible 70s horror flick, like that one about the mutant sheep who terrorizes a small town. No. I’m not making that up. It’s called the God Monster of Indian Flats. There is a scene where an actress dances in a field with the sheep-thing that made me laugh so hard I nearly choked to death. 5/5, definitely recommend. Look it up. I implore you.

Here’s a photo!

You totally thought I made it up. Didn’t you?

Anyway, the point is, he didn’t take it as any kind of reflection of his skills.

“I know I’m good.” He said.

And yeah, we could get into a discussion about straight white men and how they seem tapped into some secret source of unearned confidence that lil queer ladies like me can only dream of-

But-

it wasn’t unearned confidence. The dude has worked on his craft to the point that he knows he can draw.

And that confidence rather than arrogance, allows him to be generous with this story. To even…celebrate it.

And that is not just a healthier choice for him, but for all of us.

I say generous because it is so much easier to try and impress people. To be unwilling to show any weakness. And he could have done that. He didn’t have to model a healthier approach, but he did.

and this is the kind of story that saves me when my demons find (what they think) is some undeniable proof of my hopelessness as a creator.

It’s one of those stories I keep in my hip pocket, like a smooth stone to run my thumb over, soothing me whenever I, (after all these damn years of practice!) create a drawing that looks, to my eyes, like a blind 4 year old drew it with her butt.

And it’s not because I was take pleasure in the failure.

Not because I thought: “Ha! You suck just like me!”

But because I know he doesn’t suck…but he still sucks sometimes.

Everyone sucks sometimes.

Trying to pretend we don’t causes way more problems than just copping to it ever would.

It’s so ridiculous, really. How hard it is sometimes to just take a deep breath and say: “Yep. I’m human. I fuck up sometimes.”

As if anyone was ever fooled.

Seriously, are any of you fooled by an illusion that anything in my life is effortless?

Yeah. I didn’t think so.

So maybe it’s time I put down this shield, that, it turns out wasn’t a shield at all but a used paper plate covered with pizza stains.

Oh well.

The Proko brand is now worth a few million, so I guess it’s safe to say that Mr. Kangaroo-fetus didn’t terrorize any small towns after all.

Look, you’re smart, so I’m sure you already know that one of the downsides of social media, is how it breeds “comparisonitis” like a petri dish breeds mold. Almost as if that were its reason for existing.

And for us sensitive creative types, comparisonitis is death.

We as artists are always going to do this to some extent. Because we as humans are hardwired to compare ourselves to others. And it’s not always a bad thing. Creativity is a conversation and being part of that conversation is vital. It’s how we learn, how we get inspired.

But it’s also how we torture ourselves.

Comparisonitis is when you’re paralyzed by your comparison to others.

And online platforms make it worse because everything is so curated. You don’t see people’s failures. And you don’t see what all really went into the successes.

It’s kinda low-key designed to make you feel shitty about yourself.

I talk about this more here.

In art school I met many artists whose talent was intimidating. But it’s different to be around a working artist in person, even if they are more skilled than me. Because I got to see them as a real person, who happened to be further down the path than I was.

But also, and I need you to really hear what I’m about to say in your bones creator: everyone fucked up sometimes.

The most talented, serious, driven artists that I ever knew all had moments where they were so frustrated they were in tears, or they would storm out of class (and I mean this for both creative writing classes and drawing/painting classes) they all questioned what they were doing, and usually the most serious and talented of the bunch were the most anxious about what they were producing.

I’m not suggesting that the path to becoming a better artist is driving yourself to tears in frustration.

I’m simply reminding you that your level of frustration is no indication of your level of talent, your worth as an artist or your potential.

Have you ever created something that you thought was so bad that it was proof that you were not cut out to be an artist?

Think of any great artist and I can almost guarantee that they have been there.

(Well, maybe not Picasso. Supposedly he could draw when he came out of the womb or something. But he was also a prick. So we don’t want to be like him anyway. There are much better artists to pick as heroes.)

Take Van Gogh for example (okay, not the happiest dude, but-) drawing didn’t come naturally to him. He was a hard worker and those his early drawings are quite clumsy, but he stuck with it.

If only he had stuck with life for long enough to find out how much people were going to love his work.

His story does not have a happy ending, but that’s not because he lacked talent. He lacked faith. (And by all accounts was severely mentally ill. I’m not trying to gloss over that.)

But damn, he was only 37. What if he had decided to give himself another chance and another and another one after that?

Again, his story is more complicated than that but here’s one thing that I know is true:

We’re artists.

We get unlimited chances.

I hear it all the time though: “but I’m 50/60/70 etc etc.”

Well, yeah, I’m not trying to convince you to compete in the Olympics here.

You are the only one with the authority to declare when it’s time to give up.

If you know if you’re heart that you are an artist. That you have something to say…

please give yourself as many chances as you need until you say that thing.

How do you know when it’s time for you to give up on being creative? Well, are you dead?

No?

Then it’s not time.

Stan Prokopenko could have had a very different reaction to his rough start. He could have let those memes and ridicule define who he was.

He is where he is because he made a different choice.

He laughed it off and kept going.

Inviting some levity into your practice won’t make you any less of a serious artist. But it will help you survive long enough to find out just how great an artist you can become.

It’s about making the shift from trying to impress people to trying to connect with people.

You might get the false impression from my breezy ramblings that this shift came easily for me.

Uh. It didn’t.

I’m still shifting. This poor ol truck that is my brain in this metaphor is lurching and stalling out everywhere, grinding gears.

Get off my back, I haven’t driven a stick shift in 30 years.

But I’m trying.

I’m a recovering perfectionist who always had to be the best in her class. Who would always choose adulation over real connection. And I forgive myself for being that person. I had my reasons.

But at some point I asked myself what exactly I was trying to accomplish by always being the “best one” when it didn’t actually make me feel good because I was always looking at the next person who was better than me.

All I could focus on were my mistakes. Trying to hide them so that it would look as effortless as I thought it was supposed to look for someone talented.

Again. I understand why I was like this. (Spoiler alert: trauma. Isn’t it always? It’s as tiresomely ubiquitous as the fucking patriarchy.) But it was making it pretty miserable to do this thing that I supposedly loved.

Listen, we’re artists. Art is supposed to be messy and joyful and eternally just beyond our grasp. If a surgeon makes a mistake, someone might die. So it would be wildly inappropriate for that surgeon to say “Whoopsie! That sure wasn’t my best work!”

But again, we’re artists. No one has ever been killed by a shitty drawing. Though, it’s awfully sad to think of all the artists that have killed themselves, both on purpose and as a side effect of attempting to dull the pain of feeling like they weren’t good enough.

Thank god for my sense of humor because without it I’m sure I would be the most insufferable motherfucker on earth.

I am every bit as intense as I am irreverent.

Because I care so much. I care so fucking much. I want to be the best artist, the best writer, the best drummer.

I don’t do things halfway.

Isn’t it funny that it feels vulnerable to even admit that?

Again, as if anyone was fooled.

But at some point I discovered that if I didn’t find some fucking levity I would die.

And besides, making art is so much more fun when you don’t take yourself quite so fucking seriously.

I can only speak from my own experience, and this is it: it was only when I accepted that everyone creates clumsy drawings sometimes and that it meant nothing nothing about my worth as a creator, that drawing became fun again. And that’s when I finally started to become the artist I always wanted to be.

So next time you want to create but you’re feeling anxiety that keeps you from it, please stop and ask what anxiety is trying to tell you.

Is it telling you that you might try to create something and fail so spectacularly that you will realize that you can’t be the artist you dream of being?

Well, yeah, that would be fucking devastating wouldn’t it?

But luckily, that won’t happen. It can’t happen. Unless you let it.

Don’t let it.

Keep making shit, even when some of it really is shit.

And I promise I’ll be here doing the same.

Because that’s the job.

So stop by sometime, it’s much more fun with a friend.

Love and hisses,

K

Oh, and now what I know you really want to see…

some shitty drawings of mine!

Here’s a precious relic from my art school days.

I don’t know…why my hands did this.

Ask them.

this is a gesture drawing. I’m not sure if the 5 in the corner indicates that it was a 5 minute gesture drawing or the 5th one I did. Neither option makes it better.

and yes, I had already been doing gesture drawing for years at that point.

Does it make me feel bad, looking at a drawing like this?

It used to. It truly does not now.

And this is the last 5 minute gesture drawing I’ve done. Still far from perfect, but it gets better, kids!

Oh, shit and then it gets worse again.

Just a girl and her blue ballpoint pen. You can see from the note at the bottom that I was…um…impared. But still, what the actual fuck is happening here??

Okay kids. That’s more than enough for now.

catch ya next week.