The TV is still on with a live recording from the daily news in Ponyville but the volume is set to low. You could only faintly hear it in the background. There are ponies jumping around happily and talking about the usual things in ones life.
However the TV is lighting up most of the studio. All lights are off and the only source of lighting is the TV. The visability within the studio is dark and to say the least very unpleasant for visitors. Pencil's and pens with papers and brushes lie scattering on the wooden rectangale desk, making it look very unprofessional and messy. The pieces of paper have drawings on them of different ponies and buildings. But the drawings appear to be scribbled out and torn apart from some papers. As if the artist felt like they didn't achieve their goal; or maybe they aren't happy with their drawing?
A white pony is sitting on a chair. It looks somewhat comfortable to sit on, it has padding and a cushion to componsate for when the artist has been sitting down for long periods of time.
The pony is wearing a blue-ish vest with verticle stripes. A pair of black square glasses sit next to his hooves. His tail is settled down. He's asleep. But as he is silently sleeping his eye twitches. He slowly opens his eye and at first sight his vision is blurry from his long sleep. He blinks..
He sees himself in a little mirrior that is standing ontop of the wooden drawing table. His blue and cyan color mixed mane are both messy, again. His eye-lid lowers itself slightly. He huffs before pushing himself slowly up from the desk and he looks around himself. But really everything seems to look the same to him; unorganized and disrupted as usual.
"Aw, damnit." he says. Realizing he had passed out during his latest art-work.
He turns his head to the drawing desk and he notices a piece of paper there with drawing. The drawing has anatomy failure and wonky eyes not to mention no sense of direction or meaning with the art-work anyway. The pony had no interest in raging hardcore style over the plain fact his drawing SUCKS!
He uses his unicorn horn magic to pick up the paper gently and hover it over a bin before letting go of it, the drawing floats downward while swaying from side to side before hitting the bin softly.
Placing both hooves on his cheeks his elbows lean ontop of the desk as he reviews himself, harshly.
"I can't do anything right!" he whines. "My drawing is suppose to be good! The mane should've been perfect! O-or if not perfect atleast on par, but no it isn't, damnit! Just look at those eyes all wobbly and not aligned! They don't even look the same!"
a moment of silence passed.
"C'mon, I love drawing..why...why am I failing so much? Why am I a failure at something I love to do? Why?..."