For years, I had my heart set on CCS, in Downtown Detroit. After applying, assembling and submitting a portfolio, I was notified that I had scored a coveted interview.
My dad drove me that day. After the grueling hour-long portfolio review, and in-person interview, I left feeling heartbroken. That lady hated me and hated every piece in my portfolio. Or, so it seemed to me anyway. My dad had waited for me in the reception area. When I emerged from the closed office, the look on my face said it all. He quickly suggested, “How about we grab some pizza at Nikki’s?” (My favorite pizza joint downtown.)
We sat at a table by the windows, and munched on deep-dish, cheesy goodness, while I spilled my guts and my tears to my dad. It was the first time I ever did such a thing. As the youngest girl of six kids, my dad and I were never too close growing up. But things changed that day. I will always remember it because it was the first time I think my dad and I saw each other as real people and conversed as such. It was also the first time I let myself be completely emotionally vulnerable to my dad. I let my 17-year-old-protective, surly, teenage angsty-wall down, and I cried to my Daddy. I don’t really remember exactly what he said, but I remember how he made me feel. My dad showed me love, compassion, kindness, support, and encouragement that day, and I will never forget it. Our relationship, which was once alien, evolved into a new thing.
A few weeks later, I was stunned when my dream came true and I received my acceptance letter. But alas, it was not to be. After looking through the material and a very hefty price tag of tuition, my dad sat me down in the dining room and broke the news that I wouldn’t be able to attend.
I was crushed.
I understood, of course. The financial strain would’ve been impossible. I ended up going to Eastern Michigan University, which, by the way, had an excellent art program, and gave me an entirely different college experience than I was planning on. Sometimes life breaks your damn pencil and you have to sharpen it again. I pulled out a new sheet of paper and started a new drawing.
Part Two: Fast forward to today.
I don’t get much time to draw much anymore. Single Mom. 3 Kids. Work. House Chores. Writer. Life can get pretty busy. But I do try to squeeze some sketch time in every now and again. And when I do, I am reminded of something really cool that happens when I draw. Drawing (and most creative tasks in general) uses the right side of your brain. The left side of your brain thinks serially in numbers, letters, and words. It is verbal and analytical. The right side of your brain thinks in pictures, and “whole” things. It does not comprehend numbers, letters or words. Most functions require both sides of your brain to work as a whole unit. But some, such as drawing, require mainly one side.
When I write novels, I am channeling both sides of my brain, creatively piecing things together in a verbal, written, purposeful way. I also draw heavily on emotions, as writing through them makes my work stronger. (Even if I often cry, cringe, or scare myself.) But, when I sketch, that part of my brain turns off. I don’t think about emotions, troubles, or scenes. My brain focuses on the image in front of me and connects with my hand to carry out drawing the lines, spaces, relationships, lights, and shadows on the page. For those hours, I am lost in the piece in a different way than writing provides. I don’t think. I don’t worry. I don’t stress. I don’t analyze the way that I do day-to-day and I don’t really feel anything emotionally overwhelming. But, whatever frame of mind I’m in (distraught, happy, angry, etc), the drawing usually reflects the mood. In an abstract way, the emotions come through my pencil, but the physical act of drawing protects me from actually really feeling them. It’s as if they are locked up tight behind a lead door, and my brain is free from overthinking, worrying, or stressing about anything but putting the lines on the paper. It’s hard to describe, but it is the most wonderful and extraordinary escape. I’d imagine it’s the same for gamers who get lost in the virtual world that they control with their fingertips. Time goes by, and suddenly, I’ve been lost in an imaginary world for two hours, and my eyes have gone dry, while my hand or fingers begin to cramp.
Lately, I’ve been trying to spend more time drawing. When the new Alien Covenant movie came out, I was inspired to capture the scary, dark creature on paper. It was literally the hardest, most challenging thing I’ve attempted to draw in over 25 years, comparable only to my senior year drawing final exam. I worked tirelessly on the piece and felt like I had run a marathon by the time I had finished. I couldn’t believe the image I produced. Often when drawing, your piece goes through an ugly phase. First, you put the tentative gentle lines down. There is a distance between you and the image you’re trying to capture. Then you begin to build the shapes and spaces, adding shadows and contours. And that’s when it starts to look horrible and you think there is no way you’ll pull this out in the end. It is ugly! But then… you focus harder, you dig deeper and continue to work through the layers and suddenly… voila! You’re done. And you’ve produced something beautiful.
The drawing turned out to be the darkest thing I’d ever attempted and completely out of my normal wheelhouse. (See image at top of blog post.) I was so ecstatic and proud of it, that I wanted to attempt another. So, a few weeks later, I did.
I found another challenging image of the Alien and got to work. This one was rougher. Stabbier. Angrier. I knew it would be because that was the mood I was in when I began drawing. But once my pencil hit the page, and my eyes zeroed in on the shapes and lines, my stress was locked away behind that door. It was both freeing, and protective. Drawing saves me from feeling things I’m not ready to experience. It protects me from becoming an emotional mess, and it gives me a safe haven escape… like jumping into a virtual video game fantasy world, where nothing real exists.
So, why the two part blog?
Because it was my dad who began the real “adult” journey of my art with me. And, just like my drawings, our relationship evolved from something very tentative and distant to something beautiful, rich and deep. I think that’s how all relationships begin. They are works of art in their own way. We are all tentative, shy and distant at first. And, as more connections are made, we grow deeper and richer, and we go through some ugly times. We push and pull against each other, just like lines on a paper. We struggle to be seen, heard and understood. Sometimes, we crumple up the paper and start a new drawing. But, we can evolve through the layers built up over time. And if you work with them, the end result can be beautiful. Through my own experiences, I’ve found most works of art can be salvaged.
I wanted to share this special memory and my love of art and my dad in honor of father’s day. Dads, your child will not always hear, listen or even remember the words you say, but they will remember how you made them feel.
Happy Father’s Day!
For your viewing curiosity, I journaled the evolution of the 2nd Alien I attempted so you can see how the piece evolved.