I make drawings and for a long period of time I would rarely draw faces. Why would I not draw faces? That’s a fascinating observation about your creative process. There are actually several reasons why many artists avoid drawing faces for long stretches of time — and it often says more about the psychology of art-making than about technical skill. Here are some possibilities: 🎨 Common Reasons Artists Avoid Faces Technical challenge: Faces are notoriously complex. Small inaccuracies in proportion or symmetry can make them look “off,” so many artists shy away until they feel confident. Emotional intensity: Faces carry emotion and identity. Drawing them can feel vulnerable, like you’re exposing something personal or risking judgment. Preference for abstraction or other subjects: You might have been more drawn to landscapes, objects, or patterns, which feel freer and less constrained by realism. Avoidance of human connection: Sometimes artists unconsciously avoid faces because they represent direct human interaction, which can feel overwhelming or uncomfortable. Perfectionism: If you’re detail-oriented, the pressure to “get it right” with a face might have discouraged you from attempting them often. Exploration phase: Many artists go through phases where they focus on texture, form, or composition rather than portraiture. Faces may simply not have fit the themes you were exploring at the time. 🧠 The Deeper Layer Faces are powerful symbols — they’re the most recognizable and emotionally loaded subject matter we encounter daily. Avoiding them can be a way of protecting yourself from that intensity, or simply following your curiosity elsewhere. Later, when you feel ready, faces often reappear in an artist’s work as a new challenge or expressive outlet. 👉 I’m curious: when you did draw faces, how did it feel compared to drawing other subjects? That could reveal whether your avoidance was more about technical difficulty or emotional weight. I suppose I try to allow my feelings to show, so I might show a face that has anxiety or fear. So it would make me uncomfortable sometimes. But not interested in happy or perfect faces That makes a lot of sense — you’re tapping into the raw, vulnerable side of expression rather than the polished or idealized version. Faces with anxiety, fear, or tension carry a weight that can feel almost confrontational, both for the viewer and for the artist. They don’t let you hide behind aesthetics; they force you to sit with discomfort. 🌑 Why “uncomfortable” faces can feel more authentic Emotional honesty: Drawing fear or anxiety is a way of externalizing feelings that are harder to verbalize. It’s less about beauty and more about truth. Resistance to cliché: Happy or “perfect” faces often feel superficial or overdone. By avoiding them, you’re rejecting the pressure to conform to idealized images. Catharsis: Putting discomfort on paper can be a release, even if it’s unsettling in the moment. Empathy: Faces with visible struggle invite deeper connection. They resonate with viewers who recognize those emotions in themselves. 🎭 The tension you’re describing It sounds like you’re caught between two impulses: Wanting to express what feels real (anxiety, fear, imperfection). Feeling uneasy about facing those emotions head-on in your own art. That’s actually a very common dynamic in expressive work. Many artists find that the subjects they avoid are the ones that hold the most meaning for them. 👉 If you leaned into that discomfort, you might discover a whole new visual language. For example, instead of drawing a literal “fearful face,” you could distort proportions, exaggerate shadows, or fragment features to suggest unease without being direct.
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Nobody is telling you how FUCKED every military on Earth just became. Everyone is watching the war. The missiles flying. The explosions. Nobody is talking about the fact that Israel just made missiles OBSOLETE. The Iron Beam. A 100-kilowatt laser. Deployed in LIVE COMBAT for the first time in human history. Not a test. Not a prototype. Real war. Real Iranian missiles. Destroyed in mid-air. By a beam of light. → Cost per Iron Dome interceptor: $50,000 → Cost per Iron Beam shot: $2 → That is not a typo. Two. Dollars. Iran spent $20,000 building a drone. Israel deleted it with $2 of electricity. Iran fires 100 drones in a swarm attack. Cost to Iran: $2,000,000. Cost to Israel: $200. 💀 Here's what nobody is explaining to you: This doesn't just change THIS war. This changes ALL war. Forever. → Every missile Iran has ever built is now worthless scrap metal → Russia's entire missile stockpile? Obsolete overnight. → China's "carrier killer" ballistic missiles? The ones they spent $50,000,000,000 developing? Junk. → North Korea's only leverage — its missile program? Gone. → The Iron Beam never runs out of ammo. It runs on ELECTRICITY. → It fires at the speed of light. Nothing can dodge it. → It's silent. No explosion. The missile just vanishes. → Every country that invested in missiles just watched decades of military spending become worthless in real time. The US spent $200,000,000,000 on missile defense over 40 years. Israel just replaced it with a laser that costs less than a coffee per shot. This is not an upgrade. This is the end of an era. The age of missiles just died on live television and nobody is talking about it. Bookmark this. You're watching the biggest shift in military history since the atomic bomb.
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When people lose a political battle do they historicaly turn into angry yelling people as to deal with the loss Searching the web 48 results Yes, historically and psychologically, people (and groups) who lose a major political battle often respond with heightened anger, vocal outrage, yelling/protesting, resentment, and sometimes radicalization. This isn't universal—some accept defeat gracefully and move on—but it's a very common pattern across time, cultures, and ideologies. It's not just "sore losing"; it's a mix of emotional coping, group dynamics, and strategic behavior.Why this happensPsychological mechanisms: Political loss threatens identity, status, and worldview. Anger serves as a defense— it masks grief, fear, or helplessness, provides a sense of agency ("I'm fighting back!"), and bonds the "losers" together against the "winners." Resentment can feel empowering; it turns passive defeat into active narrative of injustice or betrayal. Scapegoating opponents (or "elites," "traitors," etc.) is classic. Contempt and rage can even be enjoyable in the short term as they elevate the self above the "enemy." Group polarization: In defeat, factions often radicalize. Moderates get sidelined, while louder, angrier voices dominate the conversation. This creates echo chambers where outrage is rewarded with attention, loyalty, and status within the group. "Radical loser" dynamic: Some thinkers describe how those who feel like societal or political "losers" adopt aggression as identity—lashing out to reclaim dignity or visibility. This shows up in both left- and right-wing movements after defeats. Historical examplesAncient & early modern: After military or political defeats (e.g., Athens condemning leaders like Phocion post-losses), losers often turned to bitter recriminations, purges, or mob anger. Grievance-fueled rebellions like Bacon's Rebellion (1676 Virginia) started with angry colonists feeling unprotected and ignored by authorities—leading to violence and burning the capital. U.S. history: The 1790s were full of rage—Whiskey Rebellion mobs tarred-and-feathered tax collectors; partisan newspapers accused opponents of betraying the Revolution. Post-Civil War, defeated Southern ex-Confederates channeled anger into Democratic Party resurgence, voter suppression, and Jim Crow. William Jennings Bryan's 1896 loss (and the Populist movement's collapse) saw agrarian "losers" fuel fiery rhetoric against "eastern elites," influencing later movements. 20th-century labor strikes or civil rights setbacks often involved angry protests turning confrontational. Recent patterns: Losers of elections frequently enter a "wilderness" phase of internal anger and finger-pointing. Examples include post-2016 progressive/Democratic infighting (some turning to strident resistance or identity-focused outrage), or post-2020 Trump supporters embracing "stolen election" narratives that fueled protests and threats. On the other side, losses have led to accusations of fascism or betrayal, with vocal media and street anger. Both sides show extremists using more negative, angry language than moderates. This pattern appears across the spectrum—left after economic/globalization "losses," right after cultural or foreign policy shifts, populists feeling like "globalization losers," etc. Anger often drives participation (protests, voting, organizing) but can also lead to violence, conspiracy thinking, or long-term bitterness if unresolved.Not always "yelling" foreverMany groups eventually adapt: they regroup, moderate, learn lessons, or win future battles. The U.S. survived the angry 1790s and became a stable nation. Populist energy from 1890s "losers" reshaped parties without destroying democracy. But unchecked, it can deepen polarization, erode trust, or spawn extremism.In short, yes—turning to loud, angry expressions is a frequent historical response to political loss. It helps process the pain and rally the faithful, but it risks becoming performative or destructive if it replaces constructive strategy. Humans are tribal; defeat stings, and yelling is one way we cope and signal we're not done fighting. The healthier paths (reflection, adaptation, bridge-building) exist but are harder in polarized times.
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