Setting Your Creative Child Free
I learned to draw on my own in my own mind, space and time. People told me I was born with a gift because I just jumped into drawing anything, but I think I was just had no fear of trying. It was fun. When people tell me they are only capable of stick people, I think they just stopped too soon.
My earliest memory of knowing I love to draw was in grade one. My schoolteacher would read a story from the Bible and instruct us to draw a picture of that story. In retrospect, she most probably needed a break from us. I would begin drawing right away and in mere minutes would be finished a full image of what I wanted to convey, the Birth of Jesus, Jesus on the boat, Jesus with the blind man, Jesus Walking on water. She would always be really amazed, much to my surprise, and would ask who taught me. Didn’t everyone have this desire and capability inside them? I was commissioned or volunteered to do murals for plays after that.
One time in grade three, the library held a tree drawing contest. I learned about it on the day it was due, but that did not stop me. Right there and then in front of the librarian, I drew a tree and handed it to her.
“I really love that”, she commented, looking at it thoughtfully. I was sure she said that to everyone.
The next day our class went to the library together and saw the winners posted on the bulletin board. There was a slight murmur going through the line till it reached me. I had won second place. The winning tree was, in my opinion, phenomenal. The texture, colour, and drawing rendered a tree that looked real. It had been done by a talented eight-grade student. Mine, on the other hand, was impressionistic. There were no details, but when I drew it, I had felt the breeze in the tree, and wanted to convey the coolness and calm that it offered.
I guess I just did not care if drawings turned out or not. There were several times an arm was too short or a leg too long or the head was lopsided. With crayons, it was hard to edit. I was not concerned about accuracy. I just wanted to draw what I saw in my mind . I remember sketching a blue whale for a class assignment. It was a meditative experience. I felt the water against its skin and sensed the stillness and silence in the depths of the ocean. A classmate was so moved by it that he bought it from me right on the spot. I did get some commissions from time to time. I only charged a nickel. It got me an extra carton of juice at lunchtime.
Sadly, I stopped drawing after grade eight and went though several decades focusing a career in the pharmaceutical industry. However, I found visiting art galleries, museums, and never passed by an art fair without stopping. One day while at one of those fairs, I asked an artist how much a painting cost. He turned around and asked me if I was an artist. About to answer in the negative, a flood of memories surged making me speechless. I remembered the crayons, colours, comments. I was an artist. I immediately promised myself that I would rekindle this hobby, pastime, vocation, whatever it was. Art was patient, waiting for me all that time. It never left.
‘’Every child is an artist; the problem is staying an artist when you grow up” Pablo Picasso
