When I was young I used to draw. Very quickly I understood the frustration - why my dolphin doesn't look as majestic as in my head? To be honest I still don't know the answer to that question. As a kid I used to have very high, unrealistic expectations towards myself, so I was getting discouraged and throwing tantrums for not being a genius. In my head I was supposed to be one. I think my anger came from the fact that if I failed it meant I was not a genius, as this is something you're supposed to be born with. My reality didn't match my ideal. And if I am not a genius then who the hell is going to love me. One must wonder where do such ideas come from in such early age. *cough*. What I seemed to completely underestimate is a value or slow and steady process of learning the craft.
Anyway, I was doodling from time to time, then I took some classes and I was able to transfer what I saw onto the paper quite decently. The key was to drop the idea of what you have in front of you and see it in two dimensions as a group of lines and shapes. I was planning art studies, but things happened and I didn't pursue them.
I found again pleasure in drawing when I fell in love with tattoos and got a couple myself. I thought that could be a good career turn for me and i picked up the pen one more time. That didn't last long, however over the years I kept on frantically doodling in times of distress. That produced couple dozens of chaotic and abstract forms. It was the better of my compulsive behaviors.
I'm still toying with ideas in my head and consider another romance with fine art. Only every now and then I remind myself that life is one and life is short. I simply might not get enough time for all my short-lived affairs.
Once upon a time I drew a thing.