Drawing. Drawing is great. It doesn’t seem too great at the beginning, but trust me, it is. First you have this piece of blank paper and that, for me, is one of the most exciting parts . . . endless potential. Who knows what it will be? Angels descending over Jesus’ manger? Soldiers charging up a hill? Mom’s smile? The only one who knows for sure is you and, if we’re honest, even that’s not a sure thing.
You sit down and put pencil to paper. And begin. First it’s just a line. Then another. Then you move across the page and add another line. Slowly shapes emerge. You lick your lips and examine the skeletons of things to be. Almost invariably you erase something. Or draw over something else. But who cares? There are no mistakes when you’re daydreaming, and you’re not doing much else at this point. Besides, nobody will ever know.
Eventually your shapes are correct and positioned in proper relationship to each other. You have your vision now. All you have to do is convey it. Easy, right? Well, easier than most people think if you know the tricks and if you’ve mastered a few basic techniques.
You begin to flesh out those skeletons. Wouldn’t people be amazed if they knew half of it was just drawing–sometimes just scribbling–lines over other lines, shapes over other shapes? Wouldn’t people be amazed if they knew the other half of it was just sitting back, watching the picture take shape, imagining its future?
The shapes begin to look recognizable to other people. An oval grows a nose and what was once a forest of random lines becomes the beginning of a wild mane of hair. Faint cylinders become fingers, arms, legs. Breasts appear. The torso solidifies. Soon there stands before you an entire body. Erase a few lines and she loses the collection of faint squares and circles whence she came. Add some shading and she takes on–almost literally-- another dimension.
You sit back. You make a few corrections. You blend a few lines together. And then you’re done. Maybe a few minutes have gone by. Maybe a few hours. However long it took you, though, you have taken a few simple objects–paper and pencils–and used them to create something new and hopefully beautiful. The best of your work will be seen by others and if it inspires an emotional reaction in them you have succeeded in making the world a better place. The worst of your work, probably kept hidden in a secret box somewhere, will contain mistakes that the wise person can learn from, making you a better artist. But whether your drawing finds itself hanging in a museum or sitting on the bottom of a closet, it still represents time spent alone with your self, your thoughts, and your passions, all of which makes you a better person and thus improves the world.
It’s magic. It lets you create three-dimensional worlds on a two-dimensional surface. It allows you to render and make comprehensible to others galaxies and microbes and other things too large and too small to normally be seen. It allows you to communicate things for which there are no words and it lets you put souls on display.
Drawing. It’s wonderful.