Draw. What Is It Good For?

In 1938, Ralph Waldo Emerson asked Henry David Thoreau a very simple question:

The two had hardly met but the question changed Thoreau’s life, and as a result we have all of this.

Though I’ve journaled for decades, it’s drawing that’s helped me step over life’s shit piles. My clichéd rubbish childhood, my divorce from God, my illegal alien years, my million shitty jobs—all were made more bearable with the help of a pencil. I’ve drawn my way through the maze of marriage, the neuroses of motherhood, and the madness of menopause, and so, I want to ask readers a similarly simple question:

Draw much?

I’ve asked this of many people, and it often elicits some variation of the same answer:

‘I can’t draw.’

‘I can barely draw a straight line.’

‘I wish I could draw.’

‘I’m horrible at drawing.’

‘Drawing is hard.’

‘I haven’t drawn since I was a kid.’

If you’ve ever thought or spoken these words, I urge you to try an experiment:

·      Find a young child (3-6 years old is ideal)

·      Tell them you can’t draw.

·      Watch their response.

Does it look anything like this?

Young kids know that ‘can’t draw’ is a load of bollocks, and that barring physical disabilities, everyone’s been able to draw since they could pick up a pencil.

Have you ever wondered why you stopped drawing? Did your brain put you off, or did someone else’s?

Here’s what I heard from those who professed to have my best interests in mind:

‘Drawing is for babies.’

‘Drawing is a hobby.’

‘There’s no point in drawing.’

‘You have to be serious. Drawing isn’t serious.’

‘You won’t get paid to draw.’

Lodged in my brain for decades, I fight this poison daily.

Some years ago, my friend Mia told me she’d been summoned to see the principal after ‘an incident’ at her daughter’s school. Having been bullied relentlessly by a classmate, her seven-year-old, Lily, already a budding artist, had finally responded by drawing her tormenter in a deep and permanent slumber.

The teacher was not amused.

To make her position clear, Lily had scribbled the word ‘hate’ in Crayola black across the finished piece. It was effective, but the principal disagreed, and now her mother was in deep shit.

After laughing and bitching, I begged Mia to fish the crumpled-up drawing from her recycling bin. This was after all, Lily’s first visceral artwork and I felt strongly that it should not only be framed and preserved for posterity, but also that it should be held up as the perfect way to handle her anger. If a blank piece of paper and a pack of crayons weren’t appropriate tools for expressing rage, what was?

Drawing has saved my life and I’ve used it to maim, disfigure, dismember, hang, stone, decapitate, lobotomize, neuter, and disembowel those I’ve loved and despised.

Drawing is one of the oldest forms of human expression dating back to prehistoric times, and perhaps the foundation of all art, and I’d hate to live in a world without it.

Does it provide the same power as a multi-billionaire might have? Probably not. But it provides enough power to find the funny.

That’s plenty.

If someone stole the pleasure of drawing from you, here’s an easy way to take it back.

·      Pick up a pencil.

·      Draw.

For ten minutes or ten hours your brain will thank you. If you try it, keep in mind that any new practice is scary—more on this another time. The finished piece need not be recognizable to reap the benefits, all you have to do is draw.

What’s is it good for?

Absolutely everything.

Note: If you plan on taking some uninterrupted time do this, feel free to download my drawing from last week to get people off your back for a bit.