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The form of storytelling that is prevalent in the west is often played out. Or, perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the tropes and ideas are done so frequently because there are so many different forms of consumable media like movies, songs, and books, that we’re just desensitized to them. This makes the storytelling in the eastern culture all the more interesting, because they present ideas that might not be common at all.
One of the most common forms of media that come from the east is, of course, anime. And anime comes in all forms, styles, and depictions, but it has a very telltale mark with the color schemes, features, and designs that make them almost… Innocent. This is why when Japanese illustrator Avogado6 decided to make some powerfully haunting and poetic illustrations using his anime style, they just hit hard.
Soruce: avogado6.com || twitter.com
Nela Dunato is a popular artist who creates a lot of dark artwork, and she made a blog post about why her artwork is so dark. It’s a good insight into why we appreciate this kind of art style too!
This is one of the most frequently asked questions I get. But even when it isn’t asked out loud, I can feel what the person thinks upon seeing my art for the first time. People I’ve known for a while get creeped out when they see there are things about me they did not know. It’s always a bit uncomfortable for both parties, so I try not to be present when people look at my art if I can help it. Once my mother asked me the same thing. “But you didn’t have a bad childhood, did you?” she continued. The unspoken accusation lingered above us: “People will think you did, they’ll think we’re bad parents.” And people around you thinking you’re a bad parent is almost as bad as actually being a bad parent…
So, why do I do it, really? A very simple and short truth is that… I am a hypersensitive individual. I’ve been like that since I can remember — crying for the silliest reasons, hurting almost physically because of something insensitive or cruel someone said, and feeling very, very lonely for most of my childhood because it was difficult for me to connect to my peers. At that time, my mom’s only advice was “It’s been like that for me as well. It will get easier when you grow up.” And she was right, it did get easier. I didn’t cry anymore, and I didn’t allow the hurtful things to get to me. I grew a thicker skin, and put on my shiny armor made of cynicism and intellectual superiority.
But you know… the crybaby never really went away. That aspect of me could not change — and it wasn’t meant to be changed. Hypersensitivity was my gift, not a flaw. I get elated and euphoric for the smallest things. I get captivated by details, and I can find amazement in so many mundane moments. I get moved by so many things it’s crazy. Sometimes all it takes is a sunbeam and a comforting breeze on my walk to work to bring a tear of joy to my eye. As one of my best friends would say: “Life is magical!” But in this world it is dangerous to be so open. Everyone is broken, and broken people hurt others, because it makes them feel more alive. I know how it feels, I’ve been cruel to others as well. I thought it was OK because “they deserved it”. But I was no better than those that have hurt me.
Anyway… People have different coping mechanisms. My mom’s is to bottle up all the anxiety and hurt, and get physically ill when it becomes too much to bear. I try not to get sick from stress and negative emotions, so I draw and paint. I don’t hide the fact that my art is my therapy. My spiritual work, if you will. I don’t hide the fact that I’m broken, just like everyone else is. Compared to a lot of people, I really didn’t have a “bad” childhood, but still it was far from easy. A few years ago I was reading some of my old diaries for the last time before shredding them to pieces. I’ve lived through my 12 year old self again, and let me tell you, it was horrible. No one was aware of this at the time, but that was the most depressed period of my life.
You look at 12 year olds and think “What do they have to be depressed about? They’re having the easiest time they will ever have. They have no idea about real problems yet.” And to this I say — it’s bullshit. Kids know very well what real problems are. Real problem is when you feel so lonely, like there isn’t a single person in the world who understands you and knows how you feel. Real problem is when you don’t have anyone to share your secrets with, for fear that you will be laughed at. Real problem is when you feel like the world would be a better place without you, and that everyone would be happier if you weren’t even born.
It’s damn real when you feel like the love that is given to you is conditional, and that only a certain type of behavior is rewarded and accepted in the Real World, but sadly you don’t fit in that type well. So you want to disappear from the face of the Earth, but not really kill yourself because that would hurt your family, and you don’t want to make other people hurt. You’re left in a limbo of neither being dead, nor truly alive. At the time you’re not aware yet that the majority of people spend their entire lives in that same limbo. Reading that diary made me relive all that, and cry my poor soul out over again. Writing about it now still makes my eyes water a little. I don’t know how long it will take me to heal all that hurt that is still lingering under layers and layers of emotional crap that came later in life.
What about you? Did these paintings hit you as hard as they did me?
