an ode to being an artist
I discovered my love for drawing in kindergarten — sketching with unsharpened HB’s, coloring with the classic Faber Castell pencils (the 36-set that came in a red box). Almost twenty years later, I am still certain my love for creating blossomed back then, at the tender age of six.
It evolved from coloring books to drawing OC’s and TV characters I loved. When I was ten, my art teacher would hang my drawings in the hallways as a gesture of motivation. You have so much potential, she would tell me. I eventually got bored from the cartoonish sketches and, by thirteen, experimented with a more polished style: portraits. I sought Youtube, watching every How to Draw. . . video there is and spent long hours emulating what I saw on screen. I painstakingly learned face proportions, anatomy, and shading (I still am. When you are an artist and a creative in general, you are always learning.) I picked up oil painting along the way, too.
There was a frustration I experienced during these years, that, when I look at where I am now, makes me feel like all the struggle was worth it. My penchant for impatience was always lingering, haunting me. I am not good enough, I would tell myself, scrutinizing the wonky, out-of-proportion gesture drawing I did. Then I would try a second, third, fourth time, until my sketch matched what I had in mind. Developing a more “polished” style was relishing, especially when I observed notable improvement, but all together an excruciating process.
Still, what a privilege it is to struggle with something I chose to commit to.
I think drawing is the area in my life I spend most of my time perfecting. Back then, I did not comprehend the significance of creating in my life until I hit my first major episode. During my depressive episodes, I would abandon art and creativity in general, like it never really existed. I would be in awe at people who had something to live for. But I did, I had art. I had creating. Even if my heart is aching now, my reason to live is there, hidden underneath layers and layers of overwhelming sadness. I should never forget these good feelings. I should always carry it with me.