Finding Art Again

an essay

I’m no spring chicken.

When I was little the world was a big place. Majestic, full of wonder and the unknown. There was no internet. Phones were attached to walls. Nobody filmed themselves reacting to anything.
I would kick a ball about, ride my bike, and draw. I loved art. My life was complete.

Today the world is smaller, all its knowledge is at my fingertips. I no longer kick a ball about. I don’t ride my bike so much.
For a long time, I stopped drawing, and much of the wonder was lost.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, art had become something to visit instead of something to do. It was stuff made by gifted individuals, locked away behind museum walls, sold for vast prices at auctions.

I found myself standing quietly in hushed galleries, stroking my chin, and trying to think clever things about it.

Something I’d been born knowing, I’d been slowly talked out of - the simple human pleasure of making marks and being creative.
My life was no longer complete.
I’d lost my art.

We’re living in a culture that has sidelined the creative act and sold us the idea that making our own art is somehow frivolous and indulgent. Childish even.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Creativity is a gift we’ve all been blessed with.
Painting and drawing are not nouns, they’re verbs. Art is not about pictures on walls, it’s about making and doing. It’s about dragging a pencil across a page, smudging charcoal with your thumb, spilling paint and laughing at the mess.

Art is the way we connect our hands, our eyes, our heads and our hearts. It’s how we explore, discover and understand the world.

Rediscover your creativity again and you’ll realise that making art is vital. It can offer a path out of the stagnation, unhappiness, self judgement and robotic living that modern life leaves so many of us feeling.

Art was never really lost.
It’s just waiting for you to start again.
And love it again, like you did when you were little.