When I was in grade 3, we had spent a bit of time overseas visiting family which meant I had missed the first few months of school. This was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. One that I cherish, and believe this opened my mind to so many more opportunities. It also meant that I had not had time to build a new group of friends in class. I found myself alone, a lot. Lucky for me, I quite enjoyed being by myself. I found protection in spending a lot of time alone, drawing and colouring. I always loved colouring. I would have intense sessions of just simply colouring in, nothing else on my mind, just scribbling until my little hearts content. On this particular day I was colouring like my life depended on it in class. I would take those markers and I would literally colour until there was no ink left in them and on this one day three little girls from class decided it was their job to tell me that not only did nobody wanted to sit next to me, but also that I was colouring in wrong. I was ruining the markers. I was mixing all the colours. I was going outside of the lines and that’s not how you colour, and that’s why no one wants to sit next to me.
These comments and many more like them over the years led to me chasing perfectionism for the next 40 years. I decided on that day, following these comments, that I was going to learn how to draw properly, and do it like I am supposed to, like all those illustrators in the books that I read and I was going to be a designer. Not really knowing anything about being a designer or an illustrator, but somehow these were in books, so those jobs must exist. I went on my way, continuing that path, only it was the pursuit of perfectionism, not really the true reason I was drawn to creating.
I was chasing the validation that I could in fact draw, and I could make everything look like it was supposed to. I chased perfectionism to the point of dropping out off uni because there was no way I would be as good as the people already drawing, designing or making art. Unhelpful thoughts, encouraged by a very unhelpful teacher. Now in my 40's, I am focussing on what it is about painting and drawing that I love, that brings me alive. Creativity has got me through many challenges in my life, I absolutely love the process. Creating something from nothing. Sometimes it looks like something and other times it’s the bringing together of shapes and colours that work and often don’t. I find joy in the scribbling in the messing up the page, I would be lying if I didn't admit that I also love making art that looks like its supposed to.
I’m finding joy in the exploration, instead of doing everything perfect. I’m colouring outside of the lines, I am making a mess. I am getting that brush and I’m putting it in so much paint and I’m painting as hard as I can, even ruining the brush and sometimes the canvas, using all of the colours that I choose, in the way that I choose, and it is pushing me through some challenging times in art and in life.
Lucky for me. Even at 8 years old. If someone told me I couldn't. I would do it anyway.
This is your sign to go and make more art.