When I was a child, I drew all the time.  Almost always, it was the same thing: a strip of green grass, a strip of blue sky, a slice of yellow sun (always on the left), and flowers, alternating loopy daisies and jagged tulips.  A fluffy cloud, an "M" or "V" bird.  My icon represents these early pictures.

I would draw on the back of assignment sheets, in my notebooks, ON my notebooks, on scrap paper, on chalkboards, wherever I could find the space to scribble, I would draw.  

Then, around high school, I stopped.  

In junior high, I drew doll ideas, dress ideas, almost anything I thought about, I would try to put onto paper.  Yes, they were crude, out of proportion, and childish, but they were mine.  I actually won a ribbon at the Arts Festival in seventh grade.  But after that, nothing.

I don't know exactly why I stopped.  I don't remember any harsh criticism, any "Why are you even bothering," comments, nothing that stands out.  I just stopped.  I started to draw once more, in senior year.  I drew a portrait of Johnny Yong Bosch, who played Adam, the Black Power Ranger, from a magazine portrait.  And it wasn't bad.  But after that, nothing.

Now, I'm thirty years old, and trying to figure out if there's anything left.  I still get the urge to sketch, but it's stomped down by something telling me, "You can't draw."

But I used to.  

And I want to see if I can again.

To this end, I've downloaded a number of drawing books off Wowio.  I'm going to get an inexpensive sketch book, some mechanical pencils, and a good eraser.  And I'm going to see if I can't silence that inner critic, and draw.

I plan to document my progress here, with a digital camera and some commentary.

So, I take the first step.

Art, here I come.