Taking My Art Back

As long as I can remember I have always had a pencil, marker, coloured pencil, or paint brush in hand. My very first work of “art” is proudly framed in the living room. It’s a disaster of colours thrown onto paper by a toddler - looking at it now aggravates me at how messy it is. But my mom likes to say that I planned where each colour was to go as if I knew what composition was.

When colouring books were introduced, it became my top priority to blend the colours the right way and make sure nothing went over the lines. If anything went outside of the lines, my brain made sure that I and everyone else in the room knew I had to start over.

By the time middle school rolled around, I was building a portfolio to audition for an arts highschool. By this age I was less aggressive about lines overlapping and colour leaking out of the line art. I was developing my skills and learning how to sketch life studies. My portfolio was filled with graphite sketches of still life sets, coloured sketches of scenery, and “anime” fan art.

For the first time I was creating things that looked like what they were supposed to. What I saw in my head I was able to put down on paper. I found peace in this ability. I was able to create a world on paper separate from the one I was living in - one where my family wasn’t falling apart, or where I wasn’t being bullied. There was freedom in my drawings that I could not find elsewhere.

In highschool, however, the creative freedom I once had disappeared. There was unspoken competition between you and your fellow classmates. Whose work was better? Who impressed the teacher more? Who was getting the best grades? Making art became a chore. The freedom I had once felt from my craft morphed into a painful obligation. It felt like a dying marriage.

When it became time to apply to university, I made the abrupt decision to no longer pursue art. Instead, I found passion in history. I was questioned by my peers why I was giving up my art. To which I responded with,

"I no longer feel the same freedom I once had. My work is no longer what I want to create. Instead I am trapped by a set expectation to create exactly what the teacher wants so that I get a good grade. My art now causes me anxiety instead of relieving it - I don’t think I could continue to study art.”

In University, my mental health took a turn for the worst. I was finally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Anxiety Disorder. These disorders affected my studies and my ability to function the same as my peers. A bad grade meant I was a failure - a waste of space. I'd put myself into headspaces that would keep me from leaving my room for days.

Eventually I was able to get medication to help with the anxiety, but I found that its effect wore off after a few months. I also found that it greatly affected my creative integrity.

While I may have given up my path of art, I continued to create it for myself. When I began to take Prozac to ease my anxiety, I found that I was no longer creating art. Art has always been a source of freedom for me - especially since mental health doesn’t allow me the freedom I desire. I found that my anxiety medication was hindering the little freedom I had, so I stopped taking them.

Within a month, I felt my creative intuitions return. Now I use doodling as a way to calm my anxiety. While it may not be the best coping mechanism, I find that creating a world where I can be free from reality really helps my mental health.

Conforming to expectations hinders creative freedom. It destroys inner peace and removes freedom from the imagination. I am happy to be able to create again without having conformity loom over my shoulder and dictate my freedom and peace. I am happy to be able to make art once again, like I did when I was young.