The day I failed at Art part 1
I have always loved drawing, it’s been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. When I was little I’d get my crayons and draw things on the walls, in my mums books, literally anything that had a surface. As you can imagine this got me in a lot of trouble , especially with my dad who had to re emulsion the wall every time I got inspired. My mother bought new books and I scribbled in them, in my eyes what she read was boring and I was just making it better, but that excuse didn’t wash, and neither did the wax off the walls from the crayons I’d just used on the new coat of paint my dad has just placed over the previous incarnations I created. Back then I didn’t know I wanted to be an artist, I was just in love with it, it was a fun thing to do. Everything I loved seemingly linked to drawing. I would see a bus and draw a bus, pretending to be a driver. I’d go to a train station and go home and get a million sheets of A4 and stick them together with masking tape and make the longes
