“A little artist.”
That is what my family called me as a child because I constantly drew. I drew any thought that came to my mind on any type of paper. My older sister would get mad because I drew in the blank pages of her books. She was most angry when I drew in the back of her copy of Little Women. Even at school, my teachers would remark how often I doodled and colored in the edges of my papers.
For a while, I loved drawing. I was pleased to hear that others enjoyed my art. But, as my depression and anxiety grew through my teenage years, I became less motivated. I did not stop drawing, but I did not find it fun anymore.
Even though people took notice and asked why I did not create art as much, I did not give them much of an answer. What was I supposed to say? “Art means nothing to me?” That was not true at all; I just felt too empty to complete anything. I did not find myself good enough to continue. By the time I reached college, I stopped altogether.
By my sophomore year of college, I was having numerous panic attacks. Along with toxic friends, my eating disorder was creeping up on me again. I was not coping in any healthy way and my boyfriend was taking notice. Even though we had only been dating for two months, he was fully attentive to my needs. One night when I was having a panic attack, he turned on The Joy of Painting.
As soon as he turned it on, the theme music compelled me. It was so soothing and it took away my fears for a brief moment. Bob Ross’s gentle voice ran through my ears and I suddenly felt safe. I watched him paint and I suddenly yearned to find my artistic nature again, but I did not know where to start.
For weeks and weeks, I watched Bob Ross paint beautiful backgrounds and sceneries. I listened closely as he said there were no mistakes, just “happy accidents.” Those words ran through my mind for so long. They told me I could make art again. Even if I did something that I did not like, someone might appreciate my creativity.
I had never painted much as a child, but watching him made me want to try it. I did a few pieces along with him. They did not look like his, but they were not supposed to. They were my own creations. I was proud of them but still found my anxiety and depression overwhelming.
That’s when I realized something. Why not take my feelings and put them into my art? I found it hard to describe my feelings, but I could paint them out. That’s what I began to do.
The first abstract piece I created was entitled “blue” (no uppercase lettering). I had no initial thought to what I wanted to make with it, but the end result amazed me. It looked exactly like I felt on the inside. I showed it to others and they loved it. I was pleased. I found my creativity again.
It has now been two years since I started using art as a coping mechanism and it has done me wonders. Aside from painting, I draw again and also do a craft called “Diamond Dots.” All of these have helped me at my most distressing points and I think they will continue to help me for ages. I do not know where I would be without my boyfriend or Bob Ross, but I am proud to say that the little artist I once was is back.