I have packs of drawing pencils, I have watercolour pencils, I have watercolour paints. I have a billion sketchbooks, I have paintbrushes, I have pastel pencils, I have charcoal…loads of bits given to me by family members who used to paint. (I’m most certainly not a painter,anything involving paint remains very much unused)
I’ve always loved to draw. I’d draw all the time when I was little and there’s a drawer in my dad’s study that still has some of them in it.
I loved making cards… We went through a really long phase of doing that.
I love making things. I enjoy being creative and I like making things look nice.
But creativity wasn’t exactly the thing that was celebrated in our house. And somewhere along the lines, the comments, the nitpicking, the faults with what I produced got to me enough that I just wouldn’t do it.
Now I draw… But nobody knows I draw, nobody sees them (bar pocketcanadian). I enjoy it, but I have no confidence in what I produce.
But its good, its a good grounding technique, my t goes on about it a lot, always asks if I’ve been drawing that week.