05 October, 2008

Introduction, Part II

This past summer, I was officially diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome (AS). I would go into detail explaining what AS is because it's pretty complex, but to save myself time, I'd suggest that you Google it or look it up on Wikipedia. In short, it's a condition on the Autism Spectrum. It presents differently in different people, some have a mild form and some have a more severe form. Mine is rather mild--mild enough to get into my twenties before being diagnosed. (Given, that eve ten years ago, very little was known about AS even though it was first identified by Hans Asperger in the 1940s.)

Asperger's Syndrome is a difference in the brain's wiring, it is not a psychological problem; that is, it is not a problem with neurotransmitters in the brain like depression is (though there is a high comorbidity rate with AS and depression.) The comparison I've used to explain it to people is to think if the brain as if it were pipes: AS is a difference in the pipes themselves, not what's running through them. My brain works just as well as those who are neurotypical, it just works differently.

Anyway, for our purposes here, my own personal brand of AS presents with major social difficulty which has led to anxiety and depression. Though I have fairly good verbal skills, I often have to think for a while before I can put my thoughts together and communicate them thoroughly. For that reason, I will probably repeat myself a lot as I try to type out my thoughts here in attempt to find the right way to express exactly what I want to communicate.

I've felt for most of my life that there was something "different" about me; something a little "off." Nothing bad, just that there was something impalpable that distinguished me from the "rest of the world," so to speak. A lot of people have told me things like, "Don't worry, it's normal to feel different," or, "We all feel that way." I knew, deep down, that they had no idea of what I was dealing with. I usually just nodded and smiled, hoping that they were right and that the feeling of being set apart from the rest of people my age would pass. It didn't, I was left frustrated and confused, wondering what the hell was the matter with me. Am I just being stubborn? Am I imagining things? It has been a relief to finally have an answer. As much as I don't want to be put into a box and pigeonholed, I feel as though I'm seeing the world through different eyes now that I know that there's not going to be some sort of strange, rare psychological disorder named after me or that I'm just a high-maintenance brat, (though I certainly have that capacity.) It's a relief to know that I belong somewhere; that there are other people like me out there, though I have yet to meet any of them.

I've been dismissed a lot, my feelings have been called trite. I've had to fight to make the art I want to make. In this age of "slacker art" and immediate gratification, my painting techniques that involve a lot of layers of glazed oil paint isn't always tolerated. Maybe, though, I'm just imagining that it's not tolerated, maybe I'm being impatient with myself. Either way, I don't mkae art the same way that a lot of other people do in my studio. I can't crank out three paintings a week, I wouldn't be satisfied with the paintings if I did. I'm a perfectionist with very high standards for myself. Sometimes I'm unrealistic about what I want from my paintings, I suppose, but the more I practice, the closer I get to what I want.

It's frustrating when instructors tell me that they don't see "me" in my paintings. I've been told that I'm repeating myself, that the emotions I'm trying to convey are unoriginal or, at least, are portrayed in an unoriginal way. I don't know what else I can do, though. I make the art for myself--I can't make it to satisfy anyone else. I have to be happy with what I do before I can have any hope of pleasing anyone else. And, if people don't like what they see in my paintings, my response is, "I didn't paint it for you." If I'm happy with it and you're not, then, I'm sorry, I can't help you; your best bet would be to move on and find something that you do like.

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