Member-only story
The Life of the Artistically Illiterate
Embarrassments, survival strategies, and getting to acceptance
I have a confession to make. I can’t sing. I can’t read music or play any instruments worth mentioning. I can’t draw or paint either. When it comes to the arts, I am a tabula rasa, a Gobi Desert of artistic expression, a veritable dearth of right-brained activity. I am convinced if someone did a CAT scan of the right side of my brain, I would flatline.
People like me, if they are lucky, learn at an early age they don’t possess artistic talents. We have all heard that poor unfortunate soul who thinks they can sing when they can’t. We smile weakly and cringe at each note. We wish they would stop. We are embarrassed for them. We see their art hanging in the classroom alongside the kids who can draw. We smile and give them words of encouragement and praise. We know they can’t draw, but we don’t tell them that. We don’t want to hurt their feelings.
A Portrait of the Would-be Artist as a Young Man
As a small boy, I was always mesmerized by the way my older sister could draw horses. Her drawings were beautiful and simple. I wanted to be able to draw the way she did. She made it look so easy. She hung her drawings on the walls of her bedroom, and every time I walked past, I…
