How I discovered I was an artist
By Carm Fogt, guest blogger
Sitting in a warm summer meadow, next to a creek in Yosemite, all I can think is, what the hell did I agree to? On my lap is sketchpad. In front of me is the most gorgeous waterfall I have ever seen. Over my shoulder, my sister-in-law is gently coaxing me in her kind and patient voice saying, “Just sketch the waterfall.”
Oh my god, I think, this can’t be happening. My palms begin to sweat. I know I will never be able to draw that waterfall.
I’ve known this since grade school. I have no ability to draw or, for that matter, do anything artistic. The first realization came when I was in first grade and confronted with a mimeographed bear and a box of crayons. My exuberance couldn’t be contained inside the lines. The kids around me–the beloved rule followers–laughed at my frenetic coloring. Clearly, I was no artist.
And, if that wasn’t enough to keep me away from crayons, Elmer’s glue and construction paper for good, the TV Guide arrived weekly with that tempting ad of a little cartoon animal and the teaser: “If you can draw Winky, we’ll hook you up with art supplies and free art lessons!” I was in high school by this time, the crayon fiasco behind me, and so thought I’d give art another go. I traced the little animal, sent it in and…failed. The powers-that-be sent a short, cutting reply that read, “Please pursue some other career in life. Thank you for your entry.”
Jumping In – and I Don’t Mean the Creek
Back in the meadow, reminded of past failures, I begin to rethink the decision I made earlier in the day. It was either a hike up the 4-mile trail with my husband and his brother or sit in the valley with my Yosemite artist-in-residence sister-in-law, Janis, while she taught her daily watercolor workshop. Hike and sweat or sit and chill by the creek. It was a no brainer, right?
How is it then that a sketchpad and pencil can send me right back to the horror of being made fun of in elementary school? All I can think is, will anyone notice if I sneak out? I glance at my watch hoping it’s almost time for lunch.
But Janis is a persistent champion of art and, for some reason, she thinks I can draw Yosemite Falls. I had confessed my insecurities to her before we started; thankfully she didn’t laugh. Instead, she suggested that when I noticed something in my drawing that was out of whack, I should simply erase that part and fix it. She said that my eye would tell me what to do.
My eye? What? Now it was me trying not to laugh at her. Seriously, erasers are allowed? No way. You mean that people who can draw–real artists–use erasers?!
Incredulously, I start. I draw and erase and draw some more until I make something that looks like the waterfall. But something else begins to take hold. Suddenly, I’m living in the moment; I’m a part of the creative flow. Years of doubt, years of believing what others told me are erased like a badly placed line.
That Was It
Over the next couple hours, I lose my anxiety over putting down a mark. Just as Janis said, it wasn’t permanent. I have unlimited do-overs. My hand relaxes and does what my eyes tell it to. I am completely engrossed.
The sun sinks low in the west, mosquitoes start to buzz around me, and yet I just don’t want to leave, I don’t want the magic feeling to end.
Back in the cabin, I search for something to draw, light upon my well-worn sneakers and start drawing them. Soon I’m drawing just about everything in the cabin.
Thus began my journey into art. I drew that waterfall. I drew Half Dome. I drew chairs, shoes, people (well, almost people). It was a miracle. I could draw and I loved doing it!
How could this be? I couldn’t do it before. Why now? Why here? All those years wasted, believing something that wasn’t true. I had always thought it was strange that my mom could draw, so could my nephew, but the rest of the family, it seemed, were just missing the art gene. Or so I thought.
If I Could Turn Back Time
How strange that just a few dings on my young ego were all it took to steer me away from ever trying art again. Why did this happen so easily and so firmly? Thankfully, albeit, years later in life, all it took was a little encouragement from a trusted instructor to turn it around.
And it wasn’t just encouragement and kind words; Janis gave me permission to fail.
I wonder, would the world even have art if artists didn’t know they had permission to make mistakes and erase them, start over, let go of what didn’t work and keep searching until they found the right path?
What Janis shook loose in me started a journey that took me to Asia to study with master brush painters. I don’t know exactly why their work captured my imagination, but that first trip, the artists I met, the instructors and the creative atmosphere brought me to a place that I never would have found had there not been a warm meadow and a kind-hearted instructor to coax it out of me.
Lifting My Brush with Confidence
I can’t turn back time, of course, but I can look to the future. I can give children the encouragement they need to pursue their innate love of creativity. And I can keep pursuing this career.
Maybe that’s what caught my imagination when I began learning Chinese brush painting: a quick brush with something negative could turn into a lifelong false belief just as easily as a quick brush with something positive might turn into a lifelong pursuit.
To see more of Carm Fogt’s work, please visit her website, https://www.carmfogt.net.
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