Throughout most of my life, growing up, I never thought I was particularly skilled at any visual arts. I never thought I was talented. I never thought my artwork was impressive or my hands capable of anything others couldn’t do with less effort and more finess.

But I always took for granted that artwork was just something creatures do from time to time. My family was financially underprivaleged so found-object arts and crafts were encouraged both as a means of entertaining oneself but also for holiday cards and birthday presents to give to relatives. I never thought the cards I made were examples of talented work – I just never questioned the fact that it was something to do and it was fun and I’d put all my focus into the creative experience.

I always kept a collexion of my sketches. I started keeping my first sketchbook journal in 1996. I considered it something personal – even more personal than my written word journal. People would ask me to draw things for them because they admired my handwriting or they’d seen my doodles in my class notes etc. and I’d oblige them, all the while never thinking there was anything special about my art – I assumed my work was liked because I didn’t care if it was good or not and was happy to produce things for people since they didn’t seem to care about the lack of elegance or finess.

During the last term of my senior year in highschool, I took one introductory drawing class. It’s the only art class I ever took. I learned about all the different professional materials and mediums used in drawing and painting. Different types of paper and brushes and paints and different ways to prepare finished work for final display. I didn’t feel that I learned much about HOW TO paint or draw or anything though. It was a very rudimentary class in an extremely underfunded highschool.

Whenever I encountered people who said they couldn’t draw, I’d bluntly disagree with them, and try to get them to draw pictures with me or something. I’d tell them that I didn’t know how to do anything, but I just went ahead and tried anyways, and it turned out fine. There’s no such thing as being unable to draw! However, my personal testimony was rarely convincing.

Whenever I encountered people who asserted themselves as artists, I would ask them to draw for me. I would watch them doing things that seemed like magic to me – proportions, depth, shadow, light, everything real that I felt I could never aspire to achieve in my own work – I would watch, entranced, and fall in love with both the artist and the artwork. I’d hang things on my wall and wonder if being surrounded by skilled talented artwork would train my eye and by some process of osmosis improve my own lack of skill. I would gaze at things and dreamily wish, “maybe, just maybe, maybe someday I’ll be able to draw or paint like that…”

And now, when I look at my recent work, my own sketches and paintings and collages all over my walls, the decorative script I write on my clothing, the signs and posters I make for events… I realise that I’ve never really looked at my work objectively. I’m not unskilled, because I’ve been doing the same things and developing and refining my techniques for more than two decades. I might not have any particular talent for visual arts, but I have VISION, and that’s just as important. I certainly lack elegance and sophistication and finess – but that’s all made up for by having my own loud voice and STYLE.

Maybe talent is just the same as passion, and skill is just the result of long-term practise.