Drawing asks me to pay attention.

It asks me to sacrifice whatever fleeting intrusive thoughts I was chasing in exchange for presence.

It asks me not to be distracted in a world determined to steal every unused scrap of my life force.

It asks me to face life head on and challenges me to love it and appreciate it.

Every drawing I make shows me the quality of my attention. They’re records of my state of mind.

I know when I’ve been drawing with an anxious, sad, and judgmental mind. I also know when I was drawing for enjoyment, fun, and curiosity.

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I went through a long period of survival mode following art school when my world became flooded with strained family relationships and financial worries. I felt shame to admit it at the time, but up until then I received most of my sense of self-efficacy and identity through being a high-achieving student and being “good at art". My belief in myself fell off a cliff in the months after graduation.

When I was young, drawing was an activity I did for fun and enjoyment almost every day. But by this point in my life (I realize this now), I had attached some ulterior motive to drawing. Whether it was a general pressure to “be good enough,” making something worthy of exhibition, or something that could sell, drawing had become a yardstick I used to measure my self-worth and metaphorically beat myself with. It filled me with guilt, not seeing it as a necessary and productive activity to solving my real problems. So I stopped.

I shifted into making functional items (primarily focusing on marbled paper and bookmaking) because these were “safe” creative outlets. I enjoyed it a lot, but I couldn’t ignore the anxious fear that I was holding back an important part of who I am by avoiding the blank page. It was much easier for me to make sketchbooks than to draw in them.

It took courage to start again, because I knew I was going to have to shift my self concept and let go of all this baggage. Drawing asks me to leave all of that behind. I had to release the need for certainty and the need to be good. Anyone who’s wanted to make a change in their life knows that there’s a difference between knowing what to do in your head and actually embodying a change.

Around 2022, I slowly but consistently started making marks again in my sketchbook. I judged them. I didn’t like the feelings they were triggering inside me—guilt, shame, frustration, but I kept going. I had periods of stress when I stopped again. and I would beat myself up about it. I’ve gotten better at releasing those self-judgments, but it’s taken years. Derek has also helped me to release these judgments of myself and live more joyfully.

There’s a quote I think about a lot from the Bhagavad Gita:

Of course there are real economic realities. In this age of social media comparison, it can be easy to slide into the line of thinking—conscious or unconscious—that goes “Well shoot… If I can’t do the thing perfectly (or at least well enough that I can make a living from it), then it isn’t worth doing.”

This is the biggest lie and also a tragedy.

Engaging with the process is always the real reward, not “being good.” The joy of giving my attention completely for a few minutes to an object or person of interest and observe it for drawing…when everything else disappears…this is a sacred space. It’s medicine for my prone-to-overthinking mind. When my attitude is correct, drawing makes me feel vivacious, calm, and joyful. I wish I could share that feeling with everyone.