Year of Being 50: Day 173: How I Know I’m a Writer, Not a Visual Artist
I’ve always loved making art and the act of crafting things, be they made of fabric, yarn, wood, or paper and ink. I’m called to do it. It’s one of the ways I’m wired.
But one of my artist friends/acquaintances (Bex Burgess, who is the illustrator for literally everything I’ve written about autism that I’ve gotten paid for and is amazing) said something the other day, or I came across one of their posts the other day (my sleep-deprived brain is a bit fuzzy) that said they work through things by drawing, processing emotions, etc. (I’m totally paraphrasing here, hope I’m getting it right.)
I don’t do that. When it comes to expressing myself, to working through thoughts and feelings and events and realizations, to processing emotions, I do that through writing (or talking to Rory). Never some sort of art or craft thing.
Sometimes I think I’m really an untrained, unpracticed artist of sorts, but, while I enjoy it, it’s not how I work through things.
This has been a nice realization, because it makes me less frustrated about my lack of certain types of artistic ability and helps me understand why I don’t like doodling most of the time.
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