I used to love to draw. It was a little bit therapeutic for me when I was growing up. No matter how "hard" life was, I could always escape to my room, and let my brain sort through things as I started to create something. I expressed myself to no one in particular; I created for an audience of me.
I was still pretty young when I stopped, though. I wasn't more than twelve or thirteen. I am afflicted by a belief that "I'm not good enough." It is a lie, of course. But, that doesn't make it any less real to a twelve-year-old boy. They can believe anything, especially what they tell themselves. At some point, that kid took notice of other talented artists, and convinced himself he wasn't good enough. So, he abandoned something he loved.
I haven't drawn anything really since I was about twelve. Today, I decided that I needed to get to know that little boy that still lives deep inside of me; that little boy who is hurt and never believes in himself. And, that little boy hasn't drawn anything for almost twenty years. His skills, whatever they once were, were rusty.
It was good to spend the evening with that boy. I tried to tell him everything is OK. I hope he understands. I hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment