with big eyes would still be entertained. As soon as the table started to become the paper, mom would stop me and wash off those purple, stained hands. Walls would soon be covered in my non-sense art along with anything else I could touch. But suddenly, at the age of eight, I became focused on other things and forgot about expressing myself. Thirteen came along, middle school became hard, and I started to grow up. As I grew up, we moved around a lot so as I got older, I never really had a best friend. I didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk to either of my already stressed out, divorced parents. In conclusion, I became depressed and was looking for something to relieve everything that was built up. My first choice wasn’t very smart, but my second choice became art. At that age, I was into watercolors. It was almost as if I was using watercolors to represent my sadness; colored …show more content…
Each drawing taped to my wall has a spot theme, no one else would notice it but me. Different feelings are expressed with each paint stroke, some more down than others. But every other picture is an image showing relief, recovery. Paint strokes run madly through the canvas with all shades of orange, purple, red, and yellow. If you look close enough, it looks like a complete mess of lines and shapes but from the right distance, it all pulls itself together. My first canvas painting hangs at the top; blue, green, and purple differently shaded blocks. No one would notice my slight pattern, it just looks like a couple of blocks. My favorite drawing of mine would have to be my colored pencil, fire-breathing dragon with burnt edges. You can obviously tell what type of emotion I had during then. If I had to pick a tie-breaker, it would have to be all of my little drawings scattered across my room’s walls. Those drawings include ice cream cones, candy hearts, a sunset to a scene of water underneath, and a bunch of