When I was little, I learned my name.

When I was little, I learned my name. I learned how to make lines that identified me. I wrote them many times, right next to each other in a pattern. The repeated lines soothed me when I would hide under my bed and look up to meet the plywood support that I lacked. I wrote my name there again and again but these lines identified me in this place too many times.

 As I grew up, I found a similar comfort in the other visual things I created. Like many children, I drew on walls. Unlike many children, I did not stop. I hid the colorful crayon creations behind furniture. I still hate white walls. I could not see white without black and I was afraid of the dark. I had many fears. I used to be afraid of being alone so I drew myself companions to comfort me. I used to be afraid of crying so I drew my emotion instead.

The walls of my home always echoed soft sounds and words because music was my mother’s comfort and these were words that I could feel. These sounds moved me physically and created the tiny dancer that is my hand. I cannot draw without music and I cannot find comfort without words. I remember Ray Bradbury once said, “Everything is generated through your own will power,” but I have trouble finding will power without my senses bursting with colors, lines, and shapes.

With the will power that I gain, I create things that not only comfort me but also others as well. I didn’t understand why people found comfort in creations that were mine. They would shower me with compliments that fell off of me like rain. My art was not as important to me as it seemed but now I know.  Art is their comfort just as much as it is mine.

When I was little, I learned my name. I learned lines and sounds and words that led me to comfort others. Many things comfort me now. Knowing that art I create impacts others, impacts myself. Perhaps that is what makes me flawless.