Have you ever looked at a painting and wondered “where did they even start?” I love watching people paint, draw and do other artsy things. I feel like I get to see their through process unfold, and to me that is more beautiful than the piece of art itself. Both my mother and my brother are artistic.
I can write, or so I tell myself, and I can play some instruments, mediocrely. I think my brain just does not process art the way artists do. I can see – lets say – a shark in my head, or a photograph, and I think AWWW YEAH, I’m gonna draw a beautiful and majestic shark! I put pencil to paper and now I have an ineloquent jello mess and a broken heart. Meanwhile my brother starts a doodle with random squiggles and comes out with an entire ocean full of sharks and squids having a laser battle against Norse Gods and tricks you into believing it’s an old time-y photo. I’m straight up jealous. I want to make beautiful things with my hands!
One time in middle school art, we were doing collages out of ripped paper and I was going though the scraps and found a yellow-y scrap that was shaped- loosely – like a saxophone. So I took it and glued it to my paper and made some 8th note and called it good day. Well months went by and my teacher comes up tome and tells me she had entered it into the state fair – well shit! I was 1/2 excited and 1/2 scared, because I felt like I had cheated! I found a piece of paper SOMEONE ELSE had torn and called it my own. Well my dad took me to the fair and I got a ribbon. But I was NEVER proud of it and honestly had a hard time having fun at the fair because of how guilty I felt. I think I threw the collage away, and the pictures of me with it were on one of my dads old phones, I think they are LONG gone.
I don’t know if my brother has won any awards for his art or not, hmm, maybe I am the better artist after all- haha.