I’ve decided to stop making wallpapers based on other artists’ work. It might seem like a small thing—just backgrounds for screens—but the idea that something I created could be on someone else’s desktop, a part of their daily life, is honestly more meaningful than I expected. It’s my way of leaving something behind, even if it’s just a little corner of the digital world. To think that something so simple can become special when you put yourself into it, that’s powerful. And while there will always be people who appreciate what I do, it still doesn’t feel like enough for me to feel fully at peace with it.

Honestly, I feel like garbage for having relied on someone else’s creations just to chase some hollow idea of success. I look back at the small recognition I’ve received, and it makes me sick because it feels completely undeserved. From now on, I’ll be drawing everything by hand. Sure, it’s daunting because my skills are nowhere near where they should be, but at least I won’t feel like I’m standing on someone else’s shoulders while pretending they’re my own legs.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how people like Marcel Duchamp said art isn’t about creation but about ideas, about context. He turned a freaking urinal into art, so by his logic, what I’ve done might qualify as “art.” But then I look at Joseph Kosuth, who basically argued that creating isn’t art at all, just a reproduction of what’s already been thought, and it hits me how little I’ve really added to anything I’ve done. My animations feel lifeless, my wallpapers all look the same, and it’s like I’m just recycling ideas without actually saying or doing anything meaningful.

There are so many insanely talented people out there who are just leagues above me—not in some competitive way, but in a way that makes me painfully aware of how inadequate I am. It’s not about being jealous or wanting to beat anyone. It’s more like standing in front of their work feels like a mirror, and I hate the reflection I see in myself. I want to feel proud of what I create, to feel like it has meaning, but instead, I’m stuck feeling like an imposter.

And on top of that, my job is slowly sucking my soul dry. It’s taken away whatever little social time I had left, and I barely have the energy to even pick up a pencil most days. But maybe that’s why I need to do this—because even if I’m not good enough yet, even if I fail, at least it’ll be me failing.