I once knew a little girl who was pretty cool. She loved all animals great and small. She gave every person the benefit of the doubt. She loved to draw, paint, build things. Especially drawing, that was her thing. Paper, walls, any surface would do. She created elaborate stories off the top of her head. She wasn't lazy, there was always some activity in which to lose herself. She was sensible, didn't get overly upset and freak out over the things that life threw at her. And damned if she ever let anyone see her cry.
She was me.
Puberty dulled every creative cell in my body. Through my teen years I didn't care about much. Friends, boys, and... er... that was pretty much it. I stopped drawing, I stopped making stories, I stopped caring. I was shallow and selfish. I dabbled in makeup, but that was the extent of my artistic endeavors. I don't particularly like who I was then.
Passion didn't find its way into my life until I fell in love in my early 20s. It was an unhealthy fixation, though, and I was addicted to the ups and downs. I don't like that girl either. She's flying solo for the foreseeable future.
At some point I remembered that I liked animals and felt bad for eating them. I was probably destined to become a vegan. When I was 8 years old, I wrote to Bill Clinton because I was concerned about the manatee population in Florida. He hadn't been in office long, he had the power to do something. The reply I received was a pre-printed letter thanking me for writing and encouraging me to do my part in my local community. Oh, and included was a glossy photo of Bill. *sigh* Anyway, long story long, I went vegetarian, and then vegan, and in a small way I regained a part of myself. This makes me happy.
My aunt has gotten into watercolor painting. Her pictures are really cute. This inspired my mom, who also has gotten back into watercolor. My mom is a really great artist (and writer!), though she will deny this if anyone mentions it. I've been using her watercolor pencils to draw on the backs of paper statements from collection agencies. Hey, I can't pay them, so they may was well be used for something! My aunt and uncle are being way generous and sending me my own drawing supplies. It's like Christmas, only better, because it's 'just because.' I want to be an artist again. I want that part of myself back, too.
I'm borrowing art books from the library. Right now I have Colored Pencil for the Serious Beginner by Bet Borgeson, and Drawing Workshop by Lucy Watson.
And the tip of Dexter's tail at the bottom for good measure. I also have Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards waiting for me at the library. And I'm writing with prompts everyday. I'm trying to stretch in all directions now. I am hoping that something lucrative can emerge from this, but if nothing else I will be happier. I hope to eventually expand to painting, sculpture, and even metal craft. I want to write short stories, novels, anything. I just want to create. Like I did when I was young.
The little girl I used to be should have grown into someone special. I'm trying to do her proud now. I owe her that.
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