Thoughts: Artistic Abilities & Keeping Them

You are either privileged to have such gracious skills or you have the ability to learn and adapt with them.

But this little factor is probably true: If you do not use them enough, you will eventually lose them.

Personally, I have lost at least two of these things in the course of my life.

Sketching: I actually took up the art of drawing and sketching. I would redraw what was in front of me, or attempt to draw from my own mental images. I did this for about two years in middle school and when I look back at some of those drawings that I have tucked way in a box, I can see that I was progressively improving my skill.

Why did I stop? Well, honestly, when I look back at the reasoning for it, I was pretty immature and childish for the decision at the time.

While visiting some family members one summer in Arizona during the transition from 7^th-8^th grade, I took my sketchbook and papers, pencils, as well as pens and Crayola colored pencils with me. I was going to be there for two months and I knew that they wouldn’t be able to entertain me forever (I still and always will love them though). So, during the down periods of the week, I’d hide away in a room and draw for a good two hours while listening to my Sony CD player that played Do As Infinity through earbuds (I did and still do like JRock. Don’t judge).

I was in the process of re-drawing an image from a comic book that I was currently reading. I have to say that it was the most complicated piece I had tried to do so far, or at least I thought so.

However, I was called away by nature to go to the bathroom. So, I left my things on the floor and quietly walked away to relieve myself.

I hadn’t been gone no more than 3 minutes and when I returned I saw one of my younger cousins, probably no more than 2 years old, having gotten hold of my colored pencils and scribbling all over the drawing.

Me, being in-between that stage of child and young adult, freaked out. I grabbed the pencil from their hands and just stared at the now tattered image on the floor. I couldn’t really say much, since I knew they were innocent. But at the same time, I was so angry about it. What I had drawn had taken me about 45 minutes. The time was pretty much wasted in just a matter of 3.

My uncle came into the room and looked at me, somewhat confused before looking down at one of his children and laughed a bit. The laughed just fueled my anger even more. I didn’t verbally state it, but my expression was quite clear.

“Well, it looks like they were trying to help you out while you went to the bathroom…” he stated, before grabbing them up off the floor into his arms.

“Help out? More like ruin it…” I muttered, beginning to clean up in defeat.

“I’m sure you can redraw it.”

I looked at him as if he was crazy. I didn’t say anything else. I just packed up the drawing tools into my bag before picking up the comic and destroyed drawing.

I was pretty distraught. I had made a lot of progress on it and the thought of redrawing it was just unthinkable at the time.

I attempted though. Failed miserably.

That was when I refused to draw again. And I didn’t.

See? I told you the reasoning for it was silly.

Instrument (Violin): I played the violin in elementary school. I stopped once I hit 7^th grade because the school system I was in did not offer orchestra in middle schools unless you went to the arts school (Stiver’s School for the Arts in Dayton, Ohio. I applied, failed and have hated the school ever since. Love their students and the work they do. Hate the application system).

I lost that talent for several years. However, in the 9^th grade, I had transferred to another school system because my mother had gotten a job at a children’s hospital (Yes, Children’s Medical Center for those who are familiar with the Dayton area). Given the opportunity to go to a different school system, I took it. High school was not pleasant in the other system (I had my things stolen during gym class, there was a fight almost every day, and they constantly severed Papa John’s Pizza in the cafeteria. As I said, not pleasant).

In the new system, I adapted pretty well. Began meeting and making friends that I still talk to presently and joining clubs that I normally wouldn’t have joined.

However, during gym class one day, I went to get a drink of water from a fountain and I heard the most beautiful and familiar sound.

Strings. Orchestra strings.

I had no idea that the school had an orchestra. I was under the assumption that every level of the American school system had rid itself of musical departments (Little did I know that this fact would soon be true).

I took a peek inside to see a class of about 25 students all taking part in playing a piece of music. First and second violin sections, a couple of violas, a bass player, and 5 cello players. All at different levels of high school, different colors and backgrounds. But they all came together for one thing: Music.

I went to my counselor and demanded that I be enrolled in orchestra for sophomore year.

I taught myself how to play all over again within that year. I hadn’t touched a violin since the 6^th grade, but I learned how to play like an intermediate player within that year. I played it until I graduated from high school.

I fell in love with it. I was proud of my skill. I loved hearing music emit from my hands, my fingertips.

But then I hit college and I had no time to play in-between textbooks, papers, group studies, exams, midterms, group meetings and sleep.

And I haven’t touched my precious violin in years. I’ve graced my fingers across it, but I’ve never played a full musical piece again.

The one artistic skill I still have is what I’m using now: Writing.

I’ve been writing since I could pick up a pencil. I had unfinished stories from the 5^th-7^th grade sitting in boxes in my second bedroom closet. I have short stories sitting on sites on the Internet that haven’t been completed.

But I have a blog. I write in it when I can find the time in my routine and mundane schedule of a life.

I don’t even know if anyone truly reads this (I do and I appreciate the ones that do).

But, shouldn’t I be putting this skill to use?

I have all these ideas. I have scripts and stories in my mind taking up space. I daydream about scenes to my own writings playing out in my mind, with music in the background.

I make up music videos to songs I listen to.

I see movies playing in my mind.

I wish I were privileged enough to have gone to an arts college, or a film school, or at least have the ability to express myself through these art forms without complication.

But all I have right now is my Macbook Pro, Microsoft Word and WordPress for my musings.

I wish I had the ability, as some do, to express my artistic talents and had not let them die.

Maybe I could pick up drawing again. I have the extra time before grad school.

My violin sits against my bedroom wall at home, resting in its case. I could always look for a community orchestra or a practice room to play in after work for a few hours.

It’s not the same.

That passion, the feeling that comes when you complete a complicated piece of work. The rush you get after finishing an orchestra piece with a group of people.

It’s not there anymore. It’s not the same freedom that you have in that one moment.

If there were a way to get it to return, then I’d gladly take it.

I know where my life is going and I know trying to enhance those skills are not needed for it.

And that’s what makes having not taken the chance to improve those skills painful.

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