Follow Robert Petcher at https://www.instagram.com/robert_petcher/ or check out his site at https://www.robertpetcherart.com/
creativity
Painting by Robert Petcher
Follow Robert Petcher at https://www.instagram.com/robert_petcher/ or check out his site at https://www.robertpetcherart.com/
Illustration by Shahuskies!
Follow Shahuskies Illustration here: https://www.instagram.com/shahuskies or purchase their work at https://www.etsy.com/shop/Shahuskies
Painting by Robert Petcher
Follow Robert Petcher at https://www.instagram.com/robert_petcher/ or check out his site at https://www.robertpetcherart.com/
Illustration by Shahuskies!
Follow Shahuskies Illustration here: https://www.instagram.com/shahuskies or purchase their work at https://www.etsy.com/shop/Shahuskies
Painting by Robert Petcher!
Follow Robert Petcher at https://www.instagram.com/robert_petcher/ or check out his site at https://www.robertpetcherart.com/
Poem by Lyonrah
Walking, following my shadow in front of me,
so capable of holding my dream in your dark complexion, a friend that walks steadily through the line ‘tween what is real and what is dream.
The two kiss,
like an explosion of light
from that one painted street lamp.
What is seeing when it rips the structure asunder piece by piece till what you thought was solitary and enduring becomes nothing more then water flowing?
So like fantasy is this life I breathe,
where does one end and the other begin,
the line shrinks from distinction.
Lost at sea in both the real and fantasy, overlaying my beloved notions of Beauty upon the seen.
I attempt at wholeness, to wholly see another without my ideas strangling them.
Stand back you defenders, allow for the balance. So hard it is to walk with your head in the clouds as your feet take root in the softening ground. I look to where the two meet and think on the space between my shadow, a dream, and my feet, the concrete.
How to Grow From Negative Feedback for Creators
It feels great to create something. You made something that you wanted, it has entered the world and taken form. You like it so much you think others should see it too. When you start putting yourself out there, you are open and vulnerable. Getting poor feedback feels bad but it’s inevitable.
Why do people on the web feel the need to be negative? There are many great and supportive online communities out there, but it can feel like the vast majority are just filled with haters. You post your hard work to a page only to have it voted down instantly by some bot and your creation never sees the light of day.
I think by understanding the motivations behind negative feedback creators can take this to learn and improve.
Don’t take it personal!
The first takeaway from internet negativity is to not take it too personally. People being rude really shouldn’t reflect on you, it is a reflection of their bad behavior and self hatred. Although we don’t deserve cruel comments just for trying to share our work, it is unfortunately a reality. More often than not, mean feedback is coming from a place of frustration. These people have been hurt and they now want to force that hurt onto others. Don’t let them win! Chase your dreams!
Bad feedback isn’t the worst thing – No feedback is the worst thing!
One of the healthiest ways to view negative feedback is to change your worst case scenario. This is basically looking at your worst fear in putting yourself out there. For most of us, our worst fear is negative feedback. It’s scary to have someone say your work sucks or it’s trash etc. and it hurts. However this is not really the worst fate for your work!
The worst thing that can happen for a creation is for no one to see it. For it to just enter the void. The world doesn’t owe you anything just because you made something, and even though you may have got a negative response they still took the time to tell you. Count that as a win! As an artist your goal is to elicit a response. Social media grows through engagement, whether positive or negative.
Everyone is a critic!
People love to criticize things. Odds are, people will find fault with your work rather than like it. It’s easy to criticize something and it makes you feel superior. It’s a cheap thrill. Again, don’t take it personal. It’s so hard to make something great so keep at it!
Keep it in perspective!
Don’t let the one bad feedback ruin the rest. We can get so stuck on the bad it’s important to remember a lot of people probably did like it. Count every win and count your losses as wins too. You tried and you put it out there. It’s hard to create! Don’t give it up!
Peace and Love!
Poem by Lyonrah
I’m a simple man
scared terribly
by the ascendance I feel
through & all about me.
In the echoing crescendo
herald by the buds
of the stretching spring tree,
in the reply from the
scuttling squirrel
gathering acorns, pausing,
looking through me,
in the eyes of another
who holds mine in momentary matrimony,
rather then the usual,
a demonstration a performance,
an assertion of ones own dominance.
Sometimes it becomes so shockingly clear
that it can’t but cause
a stirring disturbance in me.
A need for coming back,
a need for returning from that place
whispered of in our dreams.
I huddle inside my shelter,
a gift so long condemned
as the original sin,
and do as instructed
by the ego within.
Drunk On New York
Madness is unrefined passion
Passion is exonerated madness
Yak’s milk is sweet
and I drink to no end
No end
like these streets—
I walk every one
and never grow tired
knowing even eternity won’t last forever
and I have a train to catch
out to the countryside, where a mad yak
waits for me
with an infectious smile
with pure milk
which I drink to no end
and think of the endless city streets—
with bronze idols, glass walls,
cemented paths
That is all behind me now
The streets are behind me
The train is behind me
The mad yak is behind me
goading me to keep going to no end
goading me to drink her milk to no end
until the last sap of life is drained
so she can sleep to no end
so her dreams become my dreams
and my dreams travel beyond
the endless city streets
who refuse to sleep
They drink me to no end
consuming the same mad yak visions
that gestate in the womb of slumberless nights
who give birth to babies
that overrun the endless city streets
with cries for yaks milk.
The wails resonate
off skyscrapers as
an admission of want for nothing
other than mother,
an omission of subways, stadium deals,
condo complexes, dreams of electric sheep.
A call for transformation
of pavement to pasture
and the world’s city citizens
to sprout curved horns
grow hooves, don thick coats of fur
and udders and udders
filled with the passion and madness
of yaks milk
