Before I took Drawing I my sophomore year, I was always envious of those who could imitate the world on a page. I couldn’t comprehend how they were able to capture a moment with graphite or paint, making something out of nothing. I certainly didn’t think I had that skill.

So when I saw the home page for my class, I arched my brow at its promise that in Drawing I we’d be “learning to see.” I have 20/20 vision, I thought. I obviously already know how to see. 

Hindsight, though, really is 20/20. I didn’t realize how wrong I was. I saw the world around me in objects, as most people do. What I had yet to learn was how artists see the world: in shapes. Even the most intricate folds, values, and details, I learned, could be broken up to make sense.

By the end of the semester, I had learned to see, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I went from not knowing where to have my pencil start to capturing a still life with charcoal. Somewhere along the way, I learned to create in a way that once felt impossible. Of course, Picasso would never find me formidable. My work was far from flawless. There would be no art scout whisking my work off for display. But that didn’t matter. When I looked at my finished product and the smudged graphite on my hand, I realized I cherished my progress more than perfection.

I don’t share these photos of my work to boast about them; the point is not to show you how skilled I am, because if you understand drawing, you know they’re actually not very impressive. I share these works because they mark growth. I’m astonished I can capture a snapshot of life in any capacity.

I had to leave the art room after that semester, but I had the sneaking suspicion I would return. After wrestling with my junior-year schedule, I did, ready to tackle what I had initially set out to learn: painting. 

It’s true, drawing had been a gateway, but I didn’t realize how meaningful it would become. I took my skills of composition, proportion, and values to the palette, foundations to a new language of color and brushes. 

Finally, I could add vibrancy to my creations. I felt like I could bring the world to life. I’d walk into the studio, pull my apron over my head, fill my water cup, gather my brushes, refresh my palette, put on my headphones, and bring something new into existence. There is power in creation. 

So I urge you: find some way to create something that wasn’t in this world before you. Pick up a pencil to capture life in black and white. Start with basic shapes. Pick up a paintbrush and let a vision guide you. It’s ok if you mix all your colors into mud at first. Perfection has never been the goal, so don’t let it intimidate you. If you start today – even if you don’t make it there tomorrow – after a while, you too will eventually harness the power of creation.