Inside the Erotic Cartoonist's Studio (14): Chasing Eternity: The Dream of Creating a Masterpiece

*Transcription

Hello watchers!

To create a work that outlives me—a dream of immortality. Is it a divine spark in our creative essence? Or perhaps a deeply human instinct we all share? It's the secret ambition of countless artists, big and small. Some have even sold their souls to the devil in pursuit of it. I wouldn’t trade my soul for fleeting fame or a few compliments—not even for a house with an indoor pool, though I’ll admit, that would be tempting. Still, I dream of creating a masterpiece. But how does one achieve that?

How do you create a masterpiece?

No one truly knows. Some may have a sense for it, but the success of a creation relies on a rare alignment of factors: a work of quality with soul, emerging at the right moment and resonating with the people of its time, and organic reach. If any of these elements are missing, the result might still be interesting, but it’s unlikely to make history or leave a lasting mark.

You have no control over timing. Maybe people aren’t ready for your creation yet, or maybe those who would appreciate it haven’t even been born. Or, on the other hand, maybe your potential fans have been gone for centuries. Tragic, right? And how do you control organic reach? No amount of publicity can guarantee success, although it certainly helps. For an artist, the path to creating a masterpiece lies in continuous work, dedication, experimentation, and plenty of failure. With each step, you gain more quality and experience, so when your masterpiece is ready, you'll be prepared for it. I think that’s the most desirable outcome.

Of course, there are many examples of early masterpieces, and I can’t say whether it’s good or bad luck. Why? Because early success can actually impair an artist’s ability to create new work. The pressure and loss of motivation can be incredibly destructive. Take writers like J.K. Rowling, Stephenie Meyer, and E.L. James (of 50 Shades fame), or manga artist Akira Toriyama, for example. You might argue that these best-sellers aren’t exactly masterpieces, but it's clear they’ve marked entire generations. It’s also clear that their creators were overwhelmed by the success of their creations. Artistic cannibalism.

For me, at least, it’s all about enjoying the creative journey. Sure, there’s plenty of struggle with self-imposed pressure, but there's also immense joy and a real sense of fulfillment when the day’s work is done. The best part? Knowing there's always another day to keep creating! Art is, in itself, a reward. So, being devoted to it and letting it feed me—that’s success. Asking for more? That’s just ambition, and, well, ambition is part of human nature, right?

So, work hard to improve, but never forget the soul behind it. Putting your soul into your work is essential, though it’s not always easy. Sometimes it comes naturally, but other times, distractions pull you away. Before I start any project, I always remind myself, ‘Give it my best!’ It doesn’t matter if it’s a commission or something personal; every piece deserves my full love—even if not all of them are perfect. After all, perfection doesn’t exist. What truly matters is soul and sincerity. Lately, I’ve made being true to myself a priority. It’s become a goal. I can handle outside censorship, but self-censorship? That’s a different beast. I see it like a monster hiding in the closet. It terrifies me!

Success? Is it desirable?

Mmm… Success and fame, not having to worry about bills, traveling, being adored by fans, living in a beautiful house with an indoor pool… That sounds amazing, I won’t lie. But is that really for me? I’m not so sure. Financial success does bring peace of mind, but I can’t say it necessarily grants the freedom to create. Real freedom comes from motivation, and paying the bills? That’s a pretty solid motivator. Maybe the answer lies in balance: enough is enough, and that’s far better than having too little. More than enough would be nice, but too much might be distracting. As for fame, my ego doesn't need it. Honestly, it feels a bit unsettling and takes up a lot of time that could be spent creating. The best thing about being a graphic artist is that fans love your work, but rarely recognize you outside of comic events. It’s nothing like being an actress or influencer. They’re after my characters, my talent, but not me—at least, that’s what I hope!

Immortality

I really would love that… immortality, in a way. Living forever through my work, inspiring future generations. It’s a cosmic goal, you know? Even if I don’t get to see it, even if I leave this world without knowing the impact, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ll have been something bigger than myself. That my creations, my stories, my characters can echo through time, influencing those who come after me. It’s not about fame or recognition while I’m here, it’s about having planted something that grows long after I’m gone. That’s a kind of immortality I can live with. My work, carrying me forward into the future, resonating with those who haven’t even been born yet. That’s what I dream of, and that’s enough for me.

Now, imagine this: my work displayed in museums, but not in the traditional way. Picture Jezzabel in interactive virtual reality films, where viewers can step into her world and experience her passion and depravity. Poor Lieutenant, forever trapped in his torment—poor guy!

Well, I don’t think I’ve created my masterpiece just yet. How do you make something that will last for centuries, something that resonates with people far beyond your time? Ah, we’re back to square one. The same unresolved question. So, less thinking about immortality, and more focusing on the work—plus, keep dreaming. What will 2025 bring? Until next month!