Ok, I have this blog site and I’ve had it for years and here it is, glaringly empty, blank nothingness, staring back at me, daring me.  What’s the point of having of blog if you’re just going to write “someday?”

Memories of childhood–do we fully understand how one seemingly insignificant moment can change the course of our lives?

My first grade teacher was Mrs. Kristoff.  I loved her.  She was my first teacher and, coming from a dirt poor family, her sophisticated-lady countenance impressed me to no end.  She wore soft pastel sweaters and plaid skirts, and (what are those shoes?) high heels.  She was soft-spoken and I sucked in her every word.

We weren’t just poor, we were dirty poor.  The kind of poor that the proud poor look down on.  I was taught very little at home.  In fact, at the age of six, I didn’t know what “colors” were.  When Mrs. Kristoff handed out fat crayons, I had no idea what color was what.  My desk neighbor, Rick P. , took pity on me and patiently showed me the name of each color.  (I don’t mention Rick’s full last name because he also took a big smelly shit in front of me in our barn after that and I don’t want to embarrass him if he’s still alive and runs into this blog.)

Along came Thanksgiving, and with Thanksgiving, holiday arts and crafts.  Our class project was a giant turkey made out of construction paper.  My job was to paste (yum) feathers onto the turkey.  I was apparently too new at art to understand about using too much paste.  Mrs. Kristoff gently took my paste and feathers from me and said quietly, “You’ll never be an artist, dear.”  I was put into my chair and advised to read.

I have no clue if she really meant it or not.  Hell, she may have been kidding even, but that statement cemented itself into my very soul and followed me throughout my adulthood.  I wasn’t even aware of it at the time–My feelings hadn’t been hurt.  It was a statement that I accepted without emotion or understanding.  I loved her, and had no reason to disbelieve anything she said. It would have been the same as if she had said I had curly brown hair.  Fact is fact.

I spent my life not drawing.  Not coloring.  Not painting.  There was no mauve or turquoise in my vocabulary.  There was green, red, blue.  Nothing in between.  My catch phrase as an adult was, “These hands are only good for holding cigarettes.”  If I had to draw something, it was a pitiful two-stroke attempt.  I can’t draw.  I’m not an artist you know.  My biggest fears came to light when that horrible Pictionary game came out.  LOVED watching the game, HATED when it was my turn, as did my game partners.

A few years ago, the DrawSomething game came into popularity.  It was an online game created by OMGPop.   I was harassed constantly by my son and friends to play the game. Nope, I can’t draw, it would be a waste of time.  I finally gave in and started playing.  All the phone calls and messages started pouring in. “What the FUCK was that you just drew?” The bad part was, when I looked at the pictures, even I didn’t know what I was trying to draw.

It was so bad that my son and friends quietly stopped playing the game with me.  It didn’t matter, I kept tossing out shit pictures to my game partners, constantly trying to show them, “I TOLD YOU I CAN’T FUCKING DRAW!”

My online friend Joy is an artist in Australia.  She would send me turns of simple drawings that looked amazing.  I loved watching her draws come to life.  One time she sent me a drawing of Jimi Hendrix that was so amazing I whined in a message to her, “Oh I wish I had your talent.  I can’t draw.”

Her response changed my life.  She told me (paraphrasing) that it didn’t take talent to draw.  The only thing holding me back from being an artist was my own fat ass attitude.  I was blocking any attempts to learn by my negative feelings about drawing.

It was then that I realized who had taught me that I couldn’t draw.

Joy told me to try, just once, to see what I could do.  No scribbling, just thoughtful movements with the stylus.  I laughed and told her I’d try, knowing I would be proving her wrong in no time.

My next draw with her, I tried.  I thought about what I wanted to show.  I searched out photos on the internet, and I tried.  Much to my own shock, what I drew was not great by any means, but oh my god, you could tell what it was.

At that point I became obsessed with the game.  I wanted to learn so badly, I drew and I drew and I drew.  The original DrawSomething game was simple–just a few colors and simple brushes.  Then they came out with Drawsomething2.  More brushes, more colors, and more “ink” time.  I became even more obsessed.  I would draw for hours, leaving the world behind.  This included my husband who would talk to me and we would carry on conversations while I was drawing that I had no recollection of later.

I’ll post some of my drawings that made me happy.  I had a LOT of help from artist friends who played the game.

Here are some early ones that made me shriek with happiness:

With DrawSomething2 (later renamed by Zynga to ArtWithFriends), I had a lot more fun and by this time, I only drew.  Work meant nothing, family and friends were ignored.  Showers were a waste of time.  Here’s what I came up with before the damned program died:

I have hundreds, but I’m not a famous artist, you won’t need to see them all.

In fact, that Christmas, my daughter bought me a beginning drawing class and my son surprised me with an art box.  Three drawers filled with brushes, watercolor paints, acrylics and oils. (“Now do some real art, Mom.”)

I’ve started off (reluctantly) with watercolor because well, it was what was in the top drawer of the box. My watercolor work isn’t ready for prime time as I can’t seem to get past the first rule of watercolor: Give up trying to control the paint.

I don’t have a conclusion to this writing because, although DrawSomething was discontinued (the second version), I’m trying to learn to paint and draw in real life.