Reflections of the Past

In second grade, my mom fell in love with an assignment I had done where I had made a postcard based on illustrations from some of my favorite children's books. She hung it up and showered me with compliments about what a talented artist I was and how I should draw more.

I traced that postcard.
Traced it straight from the book.

My mom still insists that I am some fantastic artist, but I know better. Through this class I have been forced to see that drawing definitely is not my strongest skill. I love art, I really do. But something about the strict rules of drawing and the necessity for detail and precision really doesn't work for me. Recreating an image is so frustrating because it can always be proven imperfect by simply looking again at the source. Spending hours on a drawing only to realize the bench looks as tall as a 20 story building and the bridge is completely crooked is heartbreaking. This class has made me create things that I am not happy with, reflecting my inability to really commit to the art.

For each assignment, I felt like if I just spent more time on it, I could make something to be proud of. Drawing takes time. So. Much. Time. Assignment after assignment, I felt like I was selling myself short and disrespecting the art, because the reality was, I just did not have the time.

 I have definitely learned a whole new set of artful skills throughout the semester, and I do think I will continue to draw in a sketchbook. I think drawing is awesome, and I was in awe every single week with some of the art being created around me. The control necessary to create meticulous drawings just is not in me, but I did, and always will enjoy creating things on paper. When it comes to the arts, however, I think I mesh better with music, where mistakes are a bit more forgiving. I was no illustrator when I was 8 and I'm no great drawer at 20 either, but I am thankful for the opportunity to learn and try, no matter what ultimately ends up on the paper.