Growth, Or Why I Keep Staring at Sherlock Holmes

One of the first pieces I made that I was really proud of was a drawing of Sherlock Holmes. I liked it so much, I copied and colored it. I'm proud of it because of the dynamic pose and complicated hand. Because of the texture in the clothes and the expression in his face. That final piece is still hanging up among the assortment of favorite pieces floating above my desk.

That piece took me a week. Actually, longer. The original sketchbook drawing took a week -- mostly figuring out the hand, plus however long it took to copy and color.

In the last two and a half years, my skills in portraiture have grown immensely. I feel confident with proportion and shading. I've learned some excellent tricks with my tools. Unlike many artists at my level, I'm not afraid of hands.

Through most of my teens and 20s, I defined myself as a writer. Trouble was, I didn't understand much about the work of writing. I could turn a phrase, whittle the words down to something elegant. After a few drafts, I'd end up with something I really loved, but I didn't keep those first drafts. I started to develop this toxic idea that I needed ❇️💠🌸 inspiration 🌸💠❇️.

I think often about this exchanged between George R. R. Martin and Stephen King.

Gifted artists often don't know where their work comes from, and it can be hard to fathom one's art as work. We can dress it up however we want but whether you're writing a novel, plucking out a song on the guitar, painting a portrait, or sewing an evening gown, you got here because of hard work. No one thinks an Olympic ice skater got where she is because the muse hit her. No one thinks a concert pianist can play so beautifully because they had an especially inspiring day. When you see beautiful paintings at a museum, you aren't seeing the 10 discarded canvases and 50 concept drawing. Art is a series of steps. Art is practice. Art is drafts.

Each night, I send a photo of my work in progress to my friends. For me, drawing and painting have been so helpful because I can see the path. I can see the work that got me from A to B. Each drawing becomes an opportunity. Play with angles and lighting. Explore monochromatic palettes or neon colors. Add more detail or say it with less. And each drawing comes faster and faster. A hand will never again stump me for a week. The box I used to think of as holding drawings I "failed" at is holding drafts and practice. It's all of that tucked away invisible work that makes me an artist, possibly even more so than the pieces I display.