every now and then, i torment myself by going on a deviantart binge.
i don’t do it often because it actually hurts. not for envy or anything as base as that. just for the knowing that i… cannot… draw.
yoikes, but i have wanted to draw my entire life. if only you could see the things i see in my head. but i have no way to get them out. only words and words will not work for most of it, so i never even write about it. it just sits here and swirls until at last it fades and falls into nothingness somewhere in the back of my head.
it’s funny, but in a sad way. most artists i know say they would gladly trade drawing for writing. i suppose the grass always seems greener elsewhere. sigh.
the musicians never seem to mind. or care. i have asked them and most times, they are content to make music. it’s understandable. music draws pictures and holds words. i guess it’s like a unifying thing. or so i often find it.
i can’t make music either. well, not the way some do. i’m alright with mixing pieces made by others. i do ok with ambient sounds and scapes created therefrom. but to lay down melody, harmony, and discord so as to weave a braid that is more than random noise? heh. no, alas, not me.
i used to play the flute. and the ocarina. oh, and the harmonica. but that was a long time ago and i’ve lost it all for lack of working with it. i can peck out a melody here and there, but it takes lots of time and many mistakes to get it the way i hear it in my head because i don’t know how to write or read music. and of course, the dyslexia impedes.
but i cannot draw. hrm. no. actually. that’s not true. i cannot draw well would be the truth. i have, somewhere, a sketch book of old attempts that i quickly hid under layers of things unrelated so as to distract anyone (especially me) from ever actually looking at them again… when i say draw, i mean the fluid, accurate, recognizable things that i see others create.
my stuff is… not so clean. lacking definition. blurred and indistinguishable. malformed, i’d say… but i suppose that is needlessly cruel. sigh.
pastels. chalks. charcoal. i suppose it isn’t a surprise i lack definition, considering my choices. but i’m afraid of pens and pencils, of things that make straight lines… because i never can.
anyway. now and then, i take myself on a tour of deviantart and lose myself in the beautiful things i see there. sometimes, i save a few that really speak to me. sometimes, i email a few that put me in mind of others. or represent something that has meaning to me.
but it’s all torment, because i wish i could draw it myself.
which is why i do not often go to deviantart.