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Wednesday, December 07, 2005
That, was a lesson my drawings taught me. I love drawing. The love was already there when I started doodling nonsense. When I was a toddler, I drew on paper Mom gave me. When I was five, I drew on the underside of my bed, the sides of my parents' bed, the wardrobe surface - everywhere you can think of. Mom whacked me quite a number times for vandalism but the crime continued until I went into primary school. When I was eight, I drew in my assessment books secretly when Mom left me to myself during 'study-sessions'. And she once tore one of my uniforms for drawing instead of studying. The funny thing was, the kid I was then loved to draw real stuff. When I say 'real stuff', it really means that I liked to draw realistic drawings. And I still now. I was particular about how a human should look like in my pictures. And to the best I could, I would draw them as real as possible. I remember how once, I discovered how to draw the high-heels on a woman's feet and I was so happy about that because kids around my age that time only knew how to draw flat shoes. And then at a tender age of around seven or eight, I discovered that women should have breasts. And so I incorporated the chest swelling in my women pictures from then on. For a period of time, I drew naked people (complete with the necessary parts) when I came across an art book Mom had. Once at my grandpa's house, I drew a naked man and a woman, reminiscent of Adam and Eve, and showed it to him. Imagine his shock. He reeled and started scolding a string of undecipherable Teochew words, presumably berating me for drawing such shameful stuff at such a young age. I was only eight. My art teachers liked my drawings. And they frequently would tell my classmates to learn to incorporate some realism in their drawings, like what I did, instead of drawing deformed people with huge round heads without ears, and short and shapeless bodies. Then suddenly, I lost drawing - its art and passion, almost everything. When I drew on a few occasions, I was so angry with the state of my drawings that tears would spill. Because to me, what I drew lacked what I wanted. Life. Passion. Feeling. They weren't in my drawings. Worse still, the faces looked distorted. The human bodies weren't as magical when I first discovered them at age eight. I just gave up. Then, holidays came. And a few days back, I came across a very pretty face in a magazine. So inspired by the human face, I decided to experiment drawing a face as pretty as that one. It was completed and I gazed at it in awe because for such a long time, I never seemed to get 'it'. So I tried a second drawing. I wanted to draw a woman's face smiling. I did. But the process was not exactly a happy one for I was soon gripped by the disgust of the face staring back at me from the paper. I was angrier still when Mom pointed out and confirmed that my woman's face was distorted. When I was correcting the face, tears spilled again. But I told myself, never give up. The face was completed. Though it wasn't exactly what I had imagined earlier, relief washed over me. It was still a face alright. Distinguishable. Human-looking. Day two. I started drawing again. Drawing from my imagination as I once did before. The face gradually manifested as one of a lady with her lips slightly apart. Prior to that, I read up on how to draw a good proportionate face. The face was so much better looking. And as I drew, for once I threw my expectations aside and concentrated on crafting a face and just that. I rediscovered my childhood joy in drawing. The perfectionist in me wanted to emulate the great artists and rejected my desire to learn as a result. If you cannot learn, you cannot improve. And if you don't enjoy learning, there's no way you can improve. As a young kid, I drew what I wanted and I celebrated each effort in every drawing. As an adolescent, I drew what I wanted and I booed each drawing for its imperfection. Now in my late teen years, I have re-learnt the appreciation of every drawing and embrace each effort in every drawing. Now, I see my man portrait and know his nose is abit crooked. But heck. Because every drawing is worthy in its own way. Posted by |z|r| at |
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