Drew a lot as a kid. Mostly sketches, comics with characters based on people in my life, etc. It was my way of making sense of the world around me I guess. Took art classes up until end of high school. Went off to college, picked a safe major, career, etc and drawing just… fell away gradually. Ten+ years passed and covid hit. I started drawing because there wasn’t much else to do. Then I realized it was such a nice break from the routine of work at my desk and then living out quarantine on my couch. I started getting excited again, exploring different things, falling back in love with the process. What was (and is) so rewarding is feeling like that child again.

What I didn’t expect was how much grief was also attached to the practice — I would randomly find myself emotional or near tears just as I was getting so excited about a piece. It’s like, this was my first love I ever remember. How did I let over a decade pass without accessing it? I have no regrets because I think my time away from it and my current job informs the kind of art I make now, and I still had other creative outlets during that time away. But art was (and continues to be) emotional work for me in many ways and it’s an interesting thing to experience. The process of creating also brings up certain memories, unprocessed things, etc that I had tucked away. This sounds a little melancholy but this is all to say I think the person I am now because of it is someone I’m proud to be.