SO IT BEGINS
I had already been looking for a project to take me further in that direction, but the Masters program appears to be the catalyst. We’re going indie baby and that means learning Unity.
I’m writing this mostly as a journal, but the fact that you’re reading this means there’s potential to these posts beyond what I could reach with just pen and paper. Keeping it as real as I possibly can, I hope it be of use to somebody just starting off on a similar path.
CONCEPT-ION
Video games tie the ragtag bundle of artistic skills I have acquired over the years together a little too well to be ignored. Applying for the masters program came as a bit of a curveball. After receiving the message egging me on to apply, I had about two weeks to pull together all my rat-man-esque scratchings, mood boards and artistic lessons I had amassed in the past five years.
In what I can only describe as mild possession, I threw myself onto the bed and on the page began scratching a spiderweb of influences that have been bothering my mind. Overstimulation, expectations, existencial fear and whatever else that leads to or stems from my daily life. An extension of the process that was my first video game experience – Immersion Therapy.
From this list, a pattern emerges. Loops. Negative feedback loops.
In the beautiful way that coincidences happen, I had started playing the game Disco Elysium a day or two prior. Absolutely awestruck by the pungent deliberation that had gone into every nook, cranny, crack and corner of the game. The amount of times I felt called out by it, to then be comforted by the acknowledgement that I in fact *did not* make a mistake by being myself. I had found the base. The stem cell.
I want to do that, I thought. Despite being a masterpiece, the game mechanically isn’t all that complex. The writing and immaculate feeling therefore is what carries the game. Shorter – the art of it. It made making a game not only seem like a genuinely fulfilling creative pursuit I could get behind, but graspable.
The disco-induced multiple-personality disorder mixed well with reading Atomic Habits during this time. I had an inspiration, the vague technical abilities and a forming framework of thoughts. After what felt like a decade of fog was now clearing up. A sense of purpose is the most an artist can strive for.
IT JUST KEEPS COMING OUT
The first victim was the pdf version of my portfolio for the application form. The very portfolio that I had just pain-stakingly created online for the world to see – having to be redone. I placed down my usual black background, grid lines, cut, loin and tender.
Two days pass. Nothing more.
Then I snap.
Shaken up by the thought of being the self loathing man of inaction, I make the rational decision of just vomiting out whatever comes to mind right onto a page in Photoshop. Concept art – wild, I know.
Blend modes, opacities, chunks cut out of images; baked and pasted. Now this was working. Within a couple of hours I had created something that would’ve taken me weeks to fess up to previously. This was Disco.
Turning catharsis to habit
The feeling of unbridled creation is addictive. Simply letting yourself know that you’re fucking around with it, not trying to make something good is more liberating that any rules you could possibly ever learn. You have to make it exist before you can even begin to make it good. I find David Choe is a fantastic conveyor of this idea.
Tad Jancis apklusa. Izdauzīja siekalas no blūmīzera un teica: — Tā ir māksla. Kad Vējš spēlējas, vienalga, skurstenī vai lapās, — tev nevajag viņu traucēt. Pirms spēlēšanās viņš vienmēr dara tādas kā nevajadzīgas lietas: ūkšķ un pīkšķ, ķircinās un vaikstās. Visi domā, ka viņš tīšām kaitina vai kaltē. Bet nē, Vējš tikai gatavojas spēlēt. Tā viņš spēlējas, spēlējas, līdz sāk spēlēt. — Pūt, pūt! Pūt vēl! Vai tu izpūti jau visu? — prasīja Suns Funs. — Nē, man vēl iekšā vajag būt. — Tad pūt!
-Imants Ziedonis
I have to admit, I’ve really neglected the voice of curiosity for probably over a decade at this point. The tugs ring quiet and not very often, but they’re there. Like frail threads, often snapping off before reaching any presentable result. Yet with each pursuit, I get a little better feel for how not to break them. The hyphae I don’t break, end up leading to entire branching hubs, full of iridescence and splintering into far more questions than conclusions. A glimmer of wonder in an otherwise stressful and preconceived world.
