What Drawing Taught Me
The few who know me, know that I am somewhat of a writer. Sometimes good but mostly cringe inducing. I was once someone who taught that by writing sentences like “ Then I paint the sky with these colours,” I would somehow produce this image of a romantic poet sitting on a stool on a stage, underneath a spotlight musing his soon to be popular rhymes. But after putting down the pair of rose-coloured glasses I used to wear when I was infatuated, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The result was a sudden jolt to my spine which crawled up to my collarbones, followed by intense body shakings as the cringe born from sudden realizations creep into my conscience. Now, much like my incompetence in making jokes to capture your attention, in a similar self-deprecating fashion, I like to view myself similarly unskilled when it comes to a particular subject I am passionate about, drawing. The topic of drawing conjures different immediate conceptions across individuals. Some intuitively im