Instagram has some really cool lettering using regular Crayola markers. #crayligraphy
My four-year-old daughter has Crayola markers out all the time. I figured I’d use of these simple tools to make an awesome creation.
Awesomely BAD that is.
Ok, so I’m REALLY BAD at lettering script. I should sit down and learn and practice how to do script lettering.
Well, at least it’s still God’s word, it’s the content that matters. Even if the end result looks bad, it’s good I’m meditating on God’s word.
This will get posted on Twitter, and on my blog. But not onto Instagram.
When everyone sees your bad work
Which brings me to a point about this process of hand-writing Psalm 100 every day. Originally, this was just going to be me doing this on my own, without anyone seeing. And then I’d mail occasional renderings to unsuspecting people.
Right at the start of the project, I did it for two days in a row. Yay! But then I didn’t do it for a week. I thought posting my daily writings on a dedicated Instagram and Twitter accounts would help keep me accountable. However, now I feel like I should be doing something totally creative every single day. Frankly, I’m finding it hard have the time to be thinking of some new way to draw this.
Am I good enough?
I get worried that my writings aren’t good enough. I desire to get more followers. To get followers, you need really good—AMAZING—work.
This awful rabbit hole of Twitter and Instagram. Comparing yourself to others. Wanting to get more followers and likes. Not being good enough to get followers. Ugh.
With Instagram’s grid layout, you totally get a quick feel for how good someone’s work is. It’s like a gallery. You want your work to look nice. You want it to be consistent. If your work isn’t consistently great, then you won’t get the followers.
Somehow with Twitter, it’s not so bad. There’s no tidy grid of work summarizing your quality and effort. Twitter is designed so everything is a powerstream of content. Quantity rules on Twitter. Whereas on Instagram it’s about quality.
Should I stop posting to Instagram and Twitter?
Is social media perverting my original intention with this project of merely writing and meditating on Scripture?
For now, I’ll continue with Twitter and Instagram. But I’m not going to beat myself up if I don’t make a post every day on Instagram. I’ll post only the good stuff on Instagram. The bad stuff will continue to flow on Twitter. And sometimes even on this blog. That will allow me to do more experimental renderings. And crappy renderings. And frankly, some really simple and plain renderings. Simple and plain is good. Focusing on God’s Word is even better.
At church, my mom loved to sing hymns. Often she would be the loudest singer in the congregation—even if she was off-tune. She would just sing loudly and happily. She would say, “you don’t have to be in the choir to sing. It doesn’t matter how well you sing, God loves to hear us sing.”
Here I am, praising God by writing Psalm 100 nearly every day. Some days my work isn’t great by society’s technique standards. Like today’s experimental writing. I can’t bring myself to post this on Instagram.
I think about my mom and how she would sing loud AT CHURCH. It wasn’t just singing at home in her own private space, but she was singing WITH other people.
Can I make the connection with singing at church and posting to Instagram? When I post my praises on Instagram, they appear alongside other people’s praises.
1 thought on “Lettering badly and singing badly”
I love how the “AND WE ARE HIS” is done in straight up capital big text. Here I am, doing all this scripty lettering business. Then I got tired of that and just wrote the “AND WE ARE HIS” in simple bold wide letters.
It’s like when I got to that verse, the reminder that we are God’s really kicked in. BOOM. WE ARE HIS! I CAN MAKE BAD ART. IT’S OK!
Also, a benefit to posting my work while my technique is still bad: Over time time as my technique improves, it can maybe inspire other people. Yes, you may start off bad, but if you continue to work at it, your technique can improve.