When I was on 8 or 9th grade there was this time a classmate got me really sad. Thankfully, I don’t remember the context anymore, but I was sad and it was raining and I love rain so I went under a tree, sat, and planned on drawing. I was nervous, so I started beating the paper. With a graphite stick. A water soluble one.
Contrary to what cartoons may make us think, trees don’t protect us so well from rain.
As I was doing that, some raindrops would hit the paper, and make an effect with the harsh graphite lines. I felt the paper leaf was crying with me. I was angry and it felt good. I still have that drawing. Thing. Sometimes I look at it and find it funny. It has nothing to do with anything I’ve ever done, but I kept it.
It’s weird. I express my emotions on my drawings. I’m not good with words. I’m not the kind of person to say art says what words can’t. I just have really poor vocabulary skills. And wouldn’t that be mean to writers? It’s more like when we can’t say the words, not that they don’t exist.
I still draw. Most artists draw since they are a child. At least the ones I know. I don’t know the whole statistic thing.
But of all the things I’ve made, I feel more connected to that weird abstract thing of all my other weird abstract stuff I make.
It was a crucial point to me in terms of understanding the power of self-expression in drawing and painting. Which is also what I had been doing until then.
I could put it all on the paper.
It would just stay there.
And it wouldn’t leave.


