I stole a child’s drawing

I stole a child's drawing this weekend.

There was a local dinosaur event in town and a kid drew a shark. The lad was about 6, maybe 7 at a guess, and while he drew, his dad stood staring at something on his phone, oblivious. Without really looking at the kid’s final artwork, he issued a vague compliment, then said they needed to get going and set off.

His son hashed out the last bits of colour at speed, flung down the crayon, then legged after his dad.

It never crossed his mind to keep the drawing.

Do you know how many lecturers, art directors, designers, illustrators, and artists have spent hours teaching, and learning to draw with this power, this effectively?

A lot. Trust me. It took my college tutors 1.5 years to knock the perfection out of me and set me on my way to something better.

It's true that your five-year-old could do this, but you couldn't. Want to know why? Schools, workplaces, your mates, and well-meaning loved ones will slowly nudge or shove you towards a false idea of perfection; nothing more than an illusion.

Adults will stand and coo over a hyper-realistic painted portrait when a photograph does a better job with the snap of a shutter, rendering the painting all but redundant despite its masterful craftsmanship.

They'll go and tell that kid, as he slowly abandons that invaluable flippancy and willingness to fuck up - the very thing that makes the superb shark drawing breathe with vitality and power - in pursuit of feeding expectations, stability, prestige, and a fat pension.

I stole the drawing not from the child, but from the jaws of the recycling bin. The kid forgot the work the second he finished the masterpiece after he snapped his own shutter. I claimed it to put on my studio wall so that every time I start to overwork my art, I am reminded just how good it could be, how much better we all could be if we just let go.