Learning to draw once again

When I was six years old, I was freakin’ lady Leonardo Da Vinci in my father’s eyes. I was named “Best in Arts” in primary school and I made a career out of joining drawing contests way back in grade school. In Kinder class, I was often asked to stand in a freaking corner cos the teacher had caught me (again) consuming my pad paper with numerous doodles. I remember drawing a comic book out of elementary ruled pad, one where I shared collab duties with my classmate: a boy who smelled like rust and whose face I can barely remember.

When I was in high school, I earned “pogi points” (I was boyish then) with the whiny, snooty girls of my all girls-exclusive catholic high school hell just because I am such a freaking master with the craypass. I used to tout my drawing notebook back then and act all artsy-fartsy by doing sketches out of everything. I joined and even won (and represented my school) on numerous occasions. You could prolly say I was the kid who made the rounds out of the school based competitions (Inter-school, then you move on to the district competition, then division, regional, then nationals…). My father was elated, I was truly his own blood (my dad’s side of the family were unschooled and untrained visual artists who do wicked paintings). I wanted to enroll in a fine arts course, but financial problems pointed me to my second love: communications and the media.

Anyway, a few years after — my baby brother was discovered to BE the freakin’ Leo da Vinci of the family. He is now a graphic artist who makes wicked designs and true to life sketches.

And well, as for me: I turned out to be good in corporate communications and PR. I am married to another untrained and self-taught visual artist. I also lost whatever mojo I had when I was young when it comes to sketching. My hands have become rusty and calloused, not with holding the pencil too tight, but with the constant encounter it has with the keyboard.

A week ago while on a routine visit to the bookstore, I purchased my own sketchbook and a nice pencil. I wanted to draw again.

One thing I am truly fascinated with is the human figure. I like drawing nudes (not for the sexy part of it) but because I am just seriously fascinated with the human body, how our skin reacts to careful creases and folds; or how beautiful an arched women’s back looked visually; or that V line on a men’s tummy leading to his groin. Those things. Honestly, it’s not that I am a pervert — it’s just I am in awe on how amazing the human body looked, irregardless of how the body looked like: fat, thin, pot-bellied, six-packed — you can’t help but be amazed on how intelligent our Maker is.

Anatomy of a male nude by Leonardo da Vinci

Right now, I am trying to teach myself how to draw again. I miss the sound of pencil gliding across the pad. I miss creating something out of my bare hands. I’ll try to finish a few pieces then post them after.

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