I have an incredibly talented friend—far better drawing chops than me. When we talk about collaborating on a book and releasing it, once the topic turns to promoting it via conventions and social media, he lays out a detailed scenario of soul-crushing scorn. In this scenario—whether online or at a convention—someone gets confrontational about his work and scoffs, “If you’re so good, why aren’t you drawing X-Men?”
Finally, after decades (yes, literally decades) of hearing him predict this nightmarish scene, I asked him, “Did you have an experience like that at a con? Was someone really that rude to you?”
I asked because I’ve been setting up at conventions for over 3 decades. I started exhibiting at GenCon in 1989 when I began working in the RPG industry, and, for the last twenty years, have exhibited at various comic conventions. I’ve also been active on social media for twenty years, first, sharing my work on message boards, and later, via Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. And never once, in all those years, have I gotten that kind of treatment. Ever.
And let me tell you, my gaming artwork was pretty rough.
His response was simple. No, he hadn’t received that kind of treatment, but he fears it.
I get it. My brain constantly tries to trip me up on a daily basis, creating anxiety about everything from taxes to the old “Did I leave the stove on?” stressor. But the Invisible Audience situation is an insidious one.
The Invisible Audience scenario is that paralyzing feeling you get when you begin to imagine people looking at, reading, or consuming your work in general. It can be people you know, but more often than not, it’s this ambiguous, faceless, and unknown entity. And that makes it all the more terrifying.
I told you the story about my friend, but I’m not immune to the pitfalls of the Invisible Audience. Last August, I got a new sketchbook. I’ve never been great about keeping a sketchbook, but ever since I went digital for the majority of my professional work, I’ve wanted to start experimenting in a sketchbook again. Of course, it’s a great way to maintain a relationship with traditional media, but it’s also a great way to explore, challenge, and generally grow as an artist.
I mention that I’ve never been great at keeping a sketchbook, and the truth is that I’ve only ever filled one sketchbook. Every other one has been abandoned at one point or another.
Care to guess why?
That damn Invisible Audience.
Even now, nearly a year after I got it, my new sketchbook—the map of creative exploration that I was excited to chart—sits empty, unused. Why?
Because I can’t think of a cool image to kick it off.
That’s the dumbest thing, right? Because whatever I draw in there is going to be part of the process. There’s no guarantee that anyone EVER will look at this sketchbook. No one’s ever asked to look at my previous sketchbooks—not ever the single sketchbook I filled.
So, yeah. It sits. Empty. Mocking me.
I don’t have a problem with diving into “publishable” work—which people actually see—but when it comes to the self-study work that no one’s guaranteed to look at, I stress myself out over it.
But I’m working on it. I plan to ignore the Invisible Audience this summer, and get started on that sketchbook. You’ll have to trust me on this one, because I don’t plan on sharing it here.
If you’re being tripped up by the Invisible Audience in your own creative endeavors, you’re not alone. And you’re probably worried about nothing.
Good luck!