I loved to draw as a form of play when I was a child. We didn’t have internet streaming services back then. I could only watch the animation I liked during scheduled broadcast times on TV. I drew as a way of continuing the story when my cartoons weren’t on anymore. I wasn’t worried about it being “good”. I was engaging my imagination, and telling stories. I didn’t think of it as “art”. Most of my drawings were space ship battle scenes that where I drew all the ships and then drew their destruction, destroying the drawing in the process.

Somewhere my interest shifted I wanted to create visual art to keep, not just for play. But I fell prey to the inner and outer critics. My earliest memories of sharing anything I had drawn or painted, include someone stating only the flaws in what I had created. I become quite good at seeing only the flaws. I wanted to create visual art but I convinced myself I wasn’t capable of it. I created the story in my mind that I needed to be good at it to earn the right to study it. Unlike my space ship battle stories this one was no fun. I was afraid to try.

Still my dream of telling stories through pencil or paint, remained. One day as an adult. I took a deep breath, and risked some drawing lessons. I rediscovered a spark of the joy I had drawing as a kid. I also created some pieces I was proud of. A good friend who is an amazing artist, encouraged me to continue. She gave me new supplies to gently push me out of my comfort zone.

I started to question all the stories I had created about not being able to draw or paint. Despite planning never to be a student again, specially this late in life, I took advantage of one my job benefits and enrolled in the art department. And last year I too my first in-person drawing class. This will be my story as a non-traditional undergraduate art student.