No one ever really believed I had what it took to be an artist. The one thing my cousin would always make fun of me for was my lack of artistic talent. A courteous nod and a gaze that said volumes was all it took for my seventh grade art teacher to return my still life. Their decision is understandable; I was in their shoes once – learn more for more explanations!
Then, when suffering from epidemic-level ennui, I discovered an online ink drawing class. Half hoping to prove the long-running urban legend about my lack of “the spark,” I enrolled. My brush trembled on the rice paper on the first day. An elderly man with unkempt eyebrows and poor Wi-Fi served as the instructor. “Allow your arm to flow like a river,” he said. That made me giggle. My lines looked like worms running away from a scared bird.
However, witnessing the black ink spread across the white pages had a mesmerizing quality. Ordered disorder. The teacher insisted that there is grace in disorder. The classes devolved into a rambling meditation of sorts. I splattered all over my work because my phone rang, my dog barked, and my tea spilled. None of that mattered. As lighthearted as a youngster after eating cake, the ink did its thing. Regardless of whether the brush skipped or stuttered, it somehow became a part of the finished product. After a while, my “mistakes” seemed deliberate. A tragedy can transform into a work of art on occasion.
When I showed my friends my progress, they laughed. When my brother looked at the crane I had drawn, he thought it may be a dragon. That was my shrug. “From another story it swooped in.” I ceased elaborating. Writing became a form of therapy during those reflective moments. Skill isn’t a static concept, as I gradually came to understand. Soak the clay with warm hands.
I painted a sequence of frantic, swooping cranes until my fingers cramped one night, overwhelmed by a horrible day. The dried bits seemed almost poetic when I woke up the following morning. Far from flawless. Nonetheless, dynamic, forthright, and, dare I say it, tenacious. I uploaded an image to the web. Others made remarks. It was desired by some to purchase them. The critical voice within me began to fade.
It turns out that all you need is an inexpensive brush, a little bit of obstinacy, and the courage to appear foolish for a bit. Maybe talent isn’t a secret ingredient after all, given the ink smudges up my arms. Maybe all it takes is to just show up, get a little dirty, and be open to being surprised.
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