Today is World Drawing Day
I haven’t drawn anything in a really long time. Actually I haven’t drawn anything major for years. For a long time now I’ve been agonising over the fear that my talent is truly gone and that I’ll never get it back. I’ve tried to start drawing and painting again so many times but every time I try to draw something all I get is crap. It’s painful. I used to be able to produce exact replicas of anything I looked at and now I can’t even draw a chair and get it right. Three nights ago I spent the whole night crying because I tried and tried to draw the view from my window and just couldn’t. I have my sketchbook and paints with me and my charcoal and pens, but nothing is coming and it’s so scary.
Part of me is really, truly furious with my Mom over this. I used to do art in secondary school and I was doing well but she (like all Nigerian parents) wanted me to be a doctor, so she came to school and forced the admin to change my classes from Art to Physics, Chemistry, and Biology. I went from being happy and excelling at something I loved to being miserable and almost failing. She made me drop Art, and because of her I didn’t draw anything for years. I swore that the moment I got to university I would take art and I did take a drawing class in my freshman year which I must admit helped me come out of my abyss.
I even won Third Place (White Ribbon) in the school’s art show. But seriously, come on! Third Place? Since when did I ever win THIRD place in a drawing competition? I feel like a fucking shmuck. I haven’t taken an art class since then. Which was a year ago. I’ve already lost so many skills I had. I used to be a gymnast but I stopped. Now I can’t even bend over. I used to play tennis for Milo but I stopped. Now I can’t run to hit a wide ball. I used to play the piano beautifully but I stopped. Now all I can manage is the encore of the Phantom of the Opera, and I’ve forgotten how to read music.
Even now I’m in Manhattan trying to write. I used to love writing. I used to get a rush feeling my pen connect with the paper. I have a blank notebook and at least five pens in every handbag I own. I used to write compulsively. Now the last entry in my journal was in January. About the journaling I sort of understand because I used my journals to get through the pain of secondary school and I used my blog to get through the pain of Bakura, but everything else I don’t understand.
I start things, and then I stop them halfway through. I feel lost and lonely without my abilities.
I used to be an artist.
Now I feel like a fucking fraud.