Everything in Between
- Operator
- Jun 10
- 12 min read
Updated: Oct 19
First Age of Creation - Birth
Oil Painting: First Painting
Age: 21 years old
2nd Age of Creation - Balance
Age: 22 years old
Still Life Study: 260 or so
Age: 23
Figure Painting
Only commissioned painting
Age: 27 years old
Portrait Painting
Favorite painting
Age: 48 years old
Painting 701 or so
Last attempt for my grandson
Last Age of Creation - Rebirth
Techniques
My best guess is I did about 700 oil paintings in the span of 6 years.
A few were given to family and friends, so about 680 paintings were thrown out.
My output was set to maximum in order to find my quality within.
I never showed my work.
I just kept making paintings without worrying if I could sell, since a job is the fastest way to get sidetracked.
To allow something out of your control to dictate the value of your art is ill advised.
I just wanted to experience creating, making as much art while I had the opportunity as a student.
It doesn't matter that I can't remember what I made.
Once you do something, you never really forget.
It's like how one never forgets how to ride a bike, with only a few attempt to find balance.
As in nature, nothing is ever destroyed, it just transforms.
The value of the hundreds of discarded paintings was experience, of me facing blank canvases.
Eight to twelve hour days of painting, making countless decisions, until I no longer had a need to count.
I taught myself decisiveness, with judgement practiced with art.
It was the journey for me.
I still paint in my head, I never stopped with creating.
I made decisions until they held no fear, and that was a choice I made, to never be known.
My passion remained in the practical world.
The reward for all the work was discovering techniques.
Improvement comes from starting over with a blank canvas.
The refinement stage is where speed slows down.
Fear of overworking occurs during that stage and it was not one I enjoyed.
Refinement limits growth, while starting again is limitless.
The first answer, unrehearsed, holds the power of the moment.
Speed wins the race to creation, but mastery has to be refined through endless drafts.
I didn't start refining until I started writing, at age 46.
That was when I cared enough to get past the sketch stage.
PAFA improved my learning curve exponentially.
I don't think I could have becomes so fearless without that experience.
I learned with professional painters before they became professional.
I was a walk on freshman who was a graduate of Graphic Design.
My professor Sermas suggested I apply.
I asked if it was hard to get in. He said yes, it is an international school and you need to create a portfolio.
I asked why he thught I should.
He laughed and said, "You are the best painter and you never took a paintnig course in your life, that is why."
My peers at the Academy had been doing this their entire life...and I did not feel out of place.
It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to share space with the best and see how they created.
They had elite talent and I needed to catch up.
"A horse never runs so fast as when he has other horses to catch up and outpace."
Teachers matched their best by showing what they could do, with technical skills rarely outmatched.
No one hid their talent behind words or false bravado.
Everyone had to show their skills.
We had critiques twice a week, and our talent was displayed in front of our peers.
Practical skills were tested every day.
The race was on for everyone to improve, because our weekly critiques showed the ranking.
I had to hustle.
Being surrounded with the best made me naturally better.
I didn't quit because everyone was better than me at the start of the race.
I only had 1 oil painting course under my belt.
I was a walk in recruit that somehow made it to the minor leagues of Art.
White Sands was my still life period of study in writing.
I wanted to translate my painting style to how I write, with deep hues of blues and minimal details.
My style holds my techniques, and I wasn't about to start over.
When I decided to be a writer, I chose not follow any rules.
I don't read that much.
I just wrote continuously until I enjoyed what I read.
It took over 2 years to get to that point.
I didn't even reread or correct the thousands of pages I wrote in my study.
"I will get it right the next time," was my thought process.
September 2, 2022 was the day I became a writer.
I wrote one simple sentence in my notebook.
My first success.
"to be the best I can be"
I followed that up with 892 days of failing, with only 1 success after my one sentence.
White Sands.
It was the only story I was never tempted to scrap.
I wanted to, believe me, since it is overly sentimental, but every time I went to that story I would just start reading it again and revise.
I just couldn't help myself.
The subject was why I kept working on it, a story of faith viewed from a Gentile with no faith.
The juxtaposition revealed my theme.
Philosophy.
My interests have always naturally gone towards philosophy.
I chose the classical course at the University and philosophy was by far my favorite.
It is the most open subject for interpretation, that improved my quality of life.
For me personally, philosophy isn't trying to unravel the secrets of other people's life.
I just wanted to figure things out that work for me.
It was not an academic theory, but practical solutions that were tested in reality.
The best source of knowledge is firsthand experience.
Theory is an endless debate on hypothetical, which is fun, but not productive.
It is best to learn from necesitty, and practice practicality.
But I never liked writing.
I just knew what I followed, which is simplicity.
One of the reasons why I wanted to be a writer was because I wanted to see how my mind worked, and see if I could explain it to myself.
My philosophy carried me far with what I can do without even noticing how I was figuring things out.
I learned that the best way to learn is to go straight to doing without any worrying if I fail, as I keep trying until I understand.
Excel is a logic exercise machine that I practiced almost every day of work, for 20 years.
I used it all the time and that is how I learned coding, without memorizing, which is a pet peeve of mine.
Memorizing is a guaranteed result, which needs constant worry of remembering with repetition of repeating words.
It causes stress when you can't remember, or make a mistake.
It takes up too much storage of the brain, repeating to know is too static a way to learn for me.
No adaptation or innovation, but tried and true results which leads to complacency.
It is like reading something fast, and not thinking of the meaning.
Superficial is the best way I think of it.
Also words slow you down, and reinforces explaining.
I bypass all that stress by simply doing.
Do without explaining
is learning without presets.
I merged both my artistic style of painting, my logical style of exceling, and created a writing style which is unique.
I could care less how complicated it is to read.
It is only meant to make sense for one reader.
Ayn Rand is the only author I ever read that incorporated philosophy through fiction in perfect harmony.
I own only 4 books, with Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged as the two works with same author.
That is how much I enjoy her writing, an author who wrote the most heroic stories I have ever read.
Those two books are timeless.
She was an idealist, who loved philosophy, and expressed it through stories that took my breath away.
Rand's verses and prose are written with such clarity and artistry, rarely is there a section I get bored.
She is the only author who holds my attention from first to last page.
Atlas Shrugged had too much philosophy with Galt's speech though.
I needed a story to climb that mountain read.
Every word she writes has a purpose, she doesn't waste words in her writing, which is what I try to emulate.
Her Truth comes through her stories with pure identity, which follows logic as her tool of focus.
Every time I read her work, I always think, how can something like this exist?
How did this ever get published?
Ayn Rand had the courage to write in her own style, without compromising her self style.
She just wrote what she thought was beautiful and true.
Her signature is her own, without any influence to her vision.
Rand was always proud that her writing was of her own making, with deserved pride.
She is the definition of original, a true grandmaster who I admire without shame.
I don't know why she is so polarizing, other than...you know, her opinions, but her two books are amazing works.
For me, she writes poetry, sustained through sheer will.
The ambition and work needed to keep it together, without any boring moments, masterful.
She inspired me at 19, and no matter the differences I have with her philosophy, which is about half, she showed me that it was possible to write in pure form.
I can read her work without accepting all her philosophy.
Her art is too powerful to dismiss over a disagreement with her beliefs.
Imagine me as the fastest writer on the plains, writing as fast as I can, but not recklessly.
I am trying to finish the story on my first pass, with the the goal of getting it right the first time.
I get bullseyes more than snake eyes because I have thousands of tries under my belt.
I only get better by practicing, until it no longer feels like practice, and they are finished creations.
Doubt that I will never do it right never enters my mind, because I have done this countless times.
From studying to doing is the transition that naturally happens with practice.
First attempt is the only attempt.
The edits I make don't count as attempts, just upgrades to the design of the story.
Those upgrades rarely end...um still making small adjustments to White Sands.
But if the idea is better than my attempt, I try again, until it matches my vision.
Unlimited tries with only first attempts with each try, by either starting over or gutting most of the sections out.
I tried over a hundred times with White Sands.
Only 9 sentences remained at first, until it slowly started expanding to what it is now.
White Sands was written from the middle, with one simple thought about how my wife's sister must have felt at night praying, when she knew she was going to die.
That was my Big Bang that made me an author.
Those 9 sentences are a reflection of my own thoughts when my wife and daughter lied to put me in the hospital.
I decided to finish White Sands after I forgave the unforgivable.
I wanted to be a writer so I can write about everything, including the truth of what made me write those 9 lines.
White Sands taught me two very important things about how I should write afterwards.
The first technique that worked was to start stories in the middle, and expand in two different directions, the beginning and end.
The Everything in Between is the the ideal space to put my best effort since it doesn't have any continuity issues.
No stress in writing if I don't have to think of outlines or plots, just ideas that are simple to write outward towards the purpose.
White Sands was the only non-linear story I wrote during my studies.
That is the only way I write now.
The linear stories got trashed because I had the chore of completing what I started.
Too boring to write that way, and I should have known, since that is not how I write Excel programs, which I decided to include into my writing style.
I merged how I painted with how I excel, which took me a while to figure out, since I never thought of creating programs to be of any value with writing.
I have two styles that joined, and my third style is, um...I don't care how complicated.
I am the only one that reads my work.
If I ever get an audience, they would need to keep up, not going to dumb down, can't have them slow me down.
I write first attempt,
which often is original
The first moment is the purest form of creation, which I learned with painting and maximized with Exceling.
The second technique I learned was I had to read my work to get revisions on track.
I can't write something and not read it, the improvements are found with the reading.
It took 2 years of trial and error, but I finally understood, um...I had to learn humility.
My confidence can be annoying to some, including myself.
Nothing I write matters unless it helps the story.
Editor me decides, not the Writer me, which had to learn to give up control of what was kept.
As Writer me, I wanted to keep everything.
I put the effort, so it should stay was my attitude at first.
But as the Reader me, who is Editor me, said, um...no.
This isn't needed, take it out.
Try again.
The Writer me, who is stubborn as hell, had to finally say, fuck you, you are right.
I will try again, but I don't like your tone.
The two had to coexist, the passion and reason of my writing finally came together and made peace.
Passion was the writer,
the reader was reason.
That was the 2 year battle I had with myself, and often they didn't cooperate.
It wasn't even really a battle, since most of time I didn't even read my own work while I studied.
Editor-in-Chief Operator said, its been two years, you have to start creating finished products.
It was a humbling experience.
I can be stubborn when it comes to Art, borderline arrogant.
Study time was over and I started finishing stories in weeks and months, no longer years to take to complete.
A few months later, I was completing works in 1 day.
I finished Blue Moon shortly after, a story of the one that got away.
And then the Eternal Sky series came to be, a creative way to write my autobiography.
It was not done out of ego, but keeping a promise I made to find an answer to a question.
I asked my aunt one day what she was thinking about.
She gave me an answer I was not expecting.
She said, "What happened before the Big Bang?"
I was amused, and replied, "That is too big a thought."
She smiled and nodded, "I know, but I still want to know."
I love my aunt, so I made her a promise I would keep.
I said, "I will figure it out for you."
I meant what I said, since she allowed me her time when I needed to see her.
She texted me out of the blue, and wrote a random "I love you."
I had not felt love in a long time and I paused when I saw it.
I needed to see my aunt and feel the warmth before the frostbite of bitterness reached me.
It was a hardship living with my wife and her two daughters.
I honestly believe I don't have natural talent, which is a great place to start.
I have no ego that I know anything.
That doesn't mean I don't think I can do it.
I just practice until I get to where I want to be.
My lack of talent made me stubborn and my will power was strengthened.
Like abnormally strong, like I don't quit until I get it right.
I learn from my mistakes.
Failure is just a part of learning.
I must have made thousands of mistakes, where they are just a part of the process.
They are not car accidents that I slow down to see, but keep moving to make sure those accidents don't happen again.
I got better at not making mistakes, by paying attention and correcting the ones I made prior.
Weakness turns to strength when you get back up and try again.
It toughens you up, and you no longer fear failure.
It builds confidence that you will overcome as long as you never quit.
I just kept trying every day, unfazed that my writing was not good.
No one believed I could be a writer, which is the best place to start.
No distractions.
My progression was slow, a painstaking crawl of futility at first, with very little improvement.
It was tough.
I had to double my pace to even improve, teaching myself without any influence.
Self taught in the plainest way to describe it, I don't even ask if this is writing.
I wrote five hours a day when I worked, eight to twelve hours on my days off work, starting on the day I forgave my wife on Christmas Eve of 2023.
I forgave her so I could concentrate solely on my writing.
Prior to that, I was probably writing an average of 3 hours a day from that first sentence written in September 2, of 2022.
Once I got past the 3 hour mark, I knew, I was going to be a writer.
I got over the hump with my determination to become and started to be.
But I still needed to improve and learn for one more year.
I became a writer once I got past my first sample.
I translated my styles from paintbrush and design of Excel, to finally the fountainhead pen.
My shades of blue and architect lines were found on February 10, 2025.
I don't think of myself as a failure, even if others are certain I am.
I purposefully didn't get a job in Art after I dropped out of PAFA.
I avoided even trying to enter in that field.
I knew what would happen.
If someone asked me to change my Art because it was my job,
hmm..
I would have said,
"Nope,"
"I edit my own shit,"
"Sorry I have to give my 2 weeks, and keep my art as is, if you don't mind."
"I like it just the way it is."
"You can edit it after I am out of here, after I forget what I just made, which takes about 2 weeks."
Timeline
Started: 4/1/25
Completed: 4/12/25
Days: 11 days
Genre: Practice
