Signed up for a drawing class.

It took over 50 times of telling myself “this is going weekend when I’m finally going to spend at least 3 hours to sit and draw,” and the same number of times realizing that Sunday night has crept up on me and I again hadn’t made the time to do it. I can easily blame it on the fact that it’s hard to get shit done when you don’t have any set deadlines. Or that it’s difficult to be creative when you don’t have any sort of limitation to narrow the scope of the project.

It’s also that I have these stupid insecurity demons that are doing a good job of paralyzing me from getting back into it on my own. When I realized this, I knew I had to take a class if I wanted to make art again. Deadlines and lesson assignments are helpful, but what I really need is the hand-holding. That, in addition to thoughtful criticism…Not much makes me feel like my work is being valued than when it’s being criticized.

image(2)Colored pencil drawing from 2005 (approx. 2 ft x 1.5 ft)

In high school I was an art freak. I painted or danced every day after school, inhaled my Art History readings, and spent many weekends flipping through pages of art books at a 24-hour bookstore. In awe of C├ęzanne’s luscious colors, the expressive tones of Titian, or the trippy monsters of Hieronymus Bosch’s hell. Art was my refuge. I believed being an artist was the most courageous, honest, and beautiful way of living and I wanted to embody it. For various reasons though, I ended up becoming disillusioned by the idea and value of Art and decided I needed to understand the world better if I’m ever able to make things that are honest and bold. So… I threw myself into studying politics and working on social justice.

But my thinking about it starting to shift again and I now want to try pairing these disciplines together. It’s finally time.

Today I…

woke up to a car alarm.

ate thick yogurt with sliced almonds and my aunt’s plum jam.

couldn’t decide what to wear and changed my shirt three times.

flew past all five stoplights down the steepest hill on my commute.

was excited to call someone to share good unusual news with them.

fretted over the wording in an email.

fought (and defeated) the temptation to get a donut.

made someone speechless.

started a blog post.

ate two giant spring rolls.

bit my tongue.

read six articles.

skimmed about 20 articles.

had a productive meeting.

knew I had to work on something.

procrastinated.

was told a juicy secret.

drank coffee even though it’d mess up my stomach.

averted my eyes from someone.

had a 15-minute long mid-biking conversation.

squeezed someone tight.

drank whiskey.

ate sushi.

almost got doored by a parked car.

came across a tiny friendly lost dog and called the number on its collar.

got home to find it smelling like burnt toast.

ranted about Andy Warhol.

drank a glass of milk.

added to my to-do list for tomorrow.

thought about that person.

set my alarm clock earlier than normal.

 

…decided I wanted to remember this peacefully eventful day.