Please enjoy a still of jackhoward from slomozovo's Jack vs. The Sand. 2010. I found this picture in a random folder in my computer. Why was it there? Not sure. thedeandobbs is my favourite of Jack and Dean, so sad Jack here is a bit of a mystery.* Cute though, yeah? But it got me thinking. Can we get melodramatic and wistful for a second, here?
This young man just liked writing sketches and making videos with his friends. I’m not sure he ever thought that one day Hollywood people would know his name, that he’d play Reading Festival, and co-direct something amazing like Project: Library. Maybe, though. He’s a bit cocksure, our Jack.
Here’s a suggestion for you, particularly if you’re young. It takes confidence to do creative things. There’s self-doubt, and critical people, and it’s entirely too easy to give up and stop playing. But if you enjoy doing creative things, don’t stop doing them. Write, paint, play an instrument, sing, act, vlog, sculpt, take photos, cook, craft, cosplay, go on adventures, make soap, grow bonsai. Just don’t stop. And when it comes time to have to make a living, do what you need to do to continue doing what you love. If that means working in a bookshop to be able to pay for acting lessons, do that. If it means working in a call center to save up to see your favourite opera singer perform in Italy, do that. Some folks are lucky (skill helps, too) and are able to do what they love doing creatively for a living. But please don’t fall for the myth of adulthood that says creativity is best left to children and “proper” artists. Creativity is enriching, makes memories, is valuable to personal growth, can be a spiritual experience, and it is 100% ok for it to be a priority. Don’t let anyone tell you different. /rant
Practice means progress when it comes to doing creative things. Here’s a link to The Last Supper sketch (2014) where you can see an older, more complexly sad Jack. No spoilers but I lost it at 4:06. Lost. It.
*I’m 78.6% kidding. I find it extremely easy to poke fun at Jack despite my fondness for him. It’s like how you can’t articulate your sincerity to someone until after you’ve gotten drunk together and brawled to bleeding in the alley behind the bar. I busted your lip, you broke my rib. “I love you, man!”