Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.
– Pablo Picasso
In my office, among the books, plants, miscellaneous chargers, and paperwork, is a stack of blank canvases, a sketchbook, pencils, a set of brushes, and paint. At one point, years ago, I told myself that I would start painting again. To be clear, at no point would I have called myself an artist. By “again” I mean that I went to an elementary school with a heavy fine arts curriculum and, despite having no clue what I was doing, I invariably had a canvas, sketchbook, pencil, or paintbrush in my hand on a daily basis.
When I was in school, art did NOT make me happy. Going to an arts school, in fact, is precisely the reason why I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in fifteen years.
When I was little I loved mucking about with arts and crafts. I finger painted, I glued cotton balls onto brightly coloured pieces of construction paper, and I did strange things with yarn. The second I entered the studio at school, it went from fun and silly to stressful and competitive. Imagine the typical elementary school bully or mean girl. Now imagine them in a “special” school you have to audition to attend, make them dancers, singers, and artists, and give them the self-confidence that only comes from being the best at everything.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the school. It gave me a creative outlet, wonderful teachers, and some truly incredible experiences. But it also gave me a brutal inferiority complex. I was strong academically and I was good at drama and music (clarinet, in case you’re wondering). What I was not particularly skilled at was dance and visual arts. In the art school hierarchy, the cool girls were good at dance and art (interestingly, the two things that boys were teased for excelling in). And when I say good, I mean good. In addition to regional arts awards, some accolades collected by just my class include designing the school logo, sculptures displayed in a fine arts museum, admittance to the National Ballet Academy, and representing Canada in an international dance competition. I was surrounded by brilliance.
I graduated with good grades in every subject – even dance and art – but my experience freaked me out so much that I didn’t continue with either subject in high school. With the exception of visiting art galleries and dancing at the occasional wedding, I haven’t done either since.
An early attempt at watercolour: heavy on the water, light on the colour. 
Aslan the Lion
So that’s where I was at the beginning of this week; wanting to rediscover a long-dormant love of art, but being more than a little nervous about it. Grade school insecurities aside, I hate being bad at things – especially in front of other people. I’m ashamed to say that this has stopped me from trying a lot of new things. I’m not sure what happened to the outgoing theatre kid who loved having an audience, but my performative “art” these days is pretty much limited to public speaking at work and cooking for small groups of friends.
I wanted to start small so I ripped a few pages out of my sketchbook and I dug out the water colour pencils. I stared at the blank page for a few minutes until I gave up and turned to the Internet for inspiration. I spent a while browsing other people’s art, looking for easy little things that I could imitate. I ended up finding an oil painting that I liked and I adapted it to my new medium. I spent the rest of the afternoon messing around with the pencils and paints; I was having so much fun that I completely lost track of time.
A lot of things have changed since I was in grade school. This week when I was experimenting, I wasn’t sitting in a studio full of people all trying to paint the same thing. The “art” that I created this week wasn’t for a grade, it was for me. And it was fun. It felt so good to be creative in this way again.
There has been a lot written about the transformative power of art and of art therapy. Throughout my life, the influence of art in all its forms has been great and varied. I have beautiful memories of colouring with my Mum and my sister at the kitchen table and I have stressful memories of competition, insecurity, and embarrassment at school. Funny enough, both of those things have come up in actual therapy. Despite mixed emotions, I have wanted to try again for a long time. I have put “paint something” on almost every New Year’s Resolution list, I have looked into taking community art classes, I have purchased supplies, and I have made promises. This week I finally did it. I am happy because I had a wonderful time rediscovering an old hobby. I am Happy because I finally started to tackle my grade school insecurities and just did it.
I can talk big about vanquishing my phantom bullies until I’m blue in the face but for this to really work, I need to put my Monet where my mouth is (I know, I’m the worst). Sharing my terrible little pictures makes me sooo uncomfortable, which I guess is the point. So please don’t judge me! Or do. Whatever! I did this for me!
How to Be Happy 