Don't Call It Drawing

I can't draw. Almost everyone says it. Me, too. Though I say it a little less than I did. As a teen, I loved arts and crafts, but I shied away from the "arts" part. Drawing seemed scary. I didn't know how to make the image on the paper look like what I saw. And when what emerged on the page looked like failure, it scared me even more.

I'm not sure what happened between then and now. I still can't draw, but it doesn't matter so much. When I do draw (not often), I'm more comfortable with what happens on the page. I'm more at ease letting it be whatever it is, usually a scribble or outline or gesture. I'm okay with letting a line ramble, with letting go of mastery and expectation.

I certainly admire great drawings by great artists, and I recognize the magnitude of those achievements. I know that what I do isn't the same. I can tell the difference. Maybe it's not drawing.

Maybe that's why I feel more comfortable now:  because I can recognize the difference and feel okay about it. Okay instead of ashamed. My scribbly lines feel comfortable, too. Just like me.