Day 20: Something you drew
I am not artistic.
I am creative. I think outside of the box. I am a visual person. I am crafty and I love making things from scratch. I can be downright poetic. I have an eye for composition and colors. I sing, I dance, I act. I am a lover of the arts.
But I am not artistic.
Art was my least favorite class as a child. I loved it–loved painting, drawing, sculpting. But I hated it, because I could never execute the vision in my head. I envisioned beautiful, graceful brushstrokes, but the picture in front of my never matched the one in my head. It was endlessly frustrating, exasperating even. I gave up early on. I was required to take art in 7th grade but never after that. So I never did.
I don’t draw. I don’t sculpt. I don’t paint. And I’m okay with that.
The note on the back (in my mother’s beautifully even handwriting) says that I drew these when I was 2 years old. Forgive the name weirdness–there was a very, very short time in my life when my parents tried calling me Christy. It did not last. I am not a Christy. I am a Christine.
This, my friends, is the apex of my artistic talent. At two years old, I peaked and it has been downhill since then. I like these two pictures. I like the bold use of orange, and the graceful curves of blue. I couldn’t do much better, 30+ years later.
I make a mean mocha chip scone. I can sing harmony to almost anything, even if I don’t have music to read. And I can create photobooks that will reduce grown men to tears. But I am not artistic. And I don’t draw.