The music pulsed in my earbuds as I began to pull out drawers in our basement room. When my brother had moved out, I had half-moved into his room, bringing my assorted art supplies and my violin music/ practice room with me. For nearly five years this room had been my art hideout when I felt the need to blend some colors on a page.
Now, with my Grandpa living with us (and needing the Master room), my parents decided to move down to this empty (except for assorted art supplies and music scattered on the floor) room. Which meant I was moving my stuff out.
I hummed along to the music and finished emptying one drawer of acrylic paints, blank canvasses, and pencil cases, and set the supplies in a stack to go to their new home. Waves of memories began sweeping over me as I uncovered the first assortment of old artwork.
When I found my huge stack of squirrel drawings and paintings, I laughed.
When I was eleven, I had a huge obsession with squirrels, partly inspired by my previous craze over Beatrice Potter. The hero of my first book was a certain mischievous squirrel named Roonick. You can’t imagine the number of paintings and sketches I have of these cute animals.
This re-discovery of artwork was like visiting my former self as an impish, imaginative, naive pre-teen. My life was so different then. Or rather, life is so different now.
At the bottom of one drawer, I found my Beatrice Potter drawings of Peter Rabbit and clan.
The bad drawings (see above) were mixed in with the good. But even the lesser forms of artwork still brought back the same memories. How thankful I am for an art teacher who taught me NEVER ever to throw artwork away.
My art supplies found a new home. From here I’m sure I will continue to dabble in the hobby and create many more memories. Memories that I will stumble over in five years and smile, remembering a former me.