When I draw on the street, people usually ignore me. But those who approach often say, “I can’t draw”. But what do they mean?
I don’t know what they’re trying to say, but I have a few guesses. Once upon a time, I was like that—sometime near the end of 2013, I started keeping a sketchbook. I couldn’t draw. But I wanted to.
We were in the early stages of thinking about a year-long trip. It was just a list of destinations. Southeast Asia. India. Europe. North America. I wanted to learn to draw so that I could record it. I had fantasies of sketchbooks on a shelf filled with travel memories.
I started from the very beginning. I didn’t have a plan, had no training beyond a few after-school art classes as a kid, and felt intimidated by the blank pages. My drawings were rough and scratchy. Unsatisfying. But I was determined to keep going.
Looking back on it now, I could draw. I could pick up a pen and make marks on a page. I could write my name. I could dip a brush in paint and drag it across the paper. Pretty much anyone can do those things.
When people say, “I can’t draw,” they might be trying to pay a compliment. They want to say “I admire your work” without being direct. It’s a way of expressing wonder at what they’re seeing in front of them.
Sometimes, they might mean, “I would like to do that, but it seems hard, so I will just say that it’s impossible.” They’re inventing an extra barrier for themselves. But that barrier can be broken.
I think, usually, they mean they are unsatisfied with the pictures they’ve drawn so far and have stopped. And I get it. The beginner stage of anything is hard because it’s so much effort and not much reward. But once upon a time, you didn’t know how to ride a bike, cook an omelette or parallel park. But you learned! You did it! You pushed through.
The real skill isn’t drawing; it’s persistence. Keeping a sketchbook is about making drawing part of your life. Fitting it in. Being ok with failure. Learning from the disappointment.
And that’s the first thing I learned. Persistence.
One page at a time.
One shape at a time.
One line at a time.
It all adds up.
It didn’t take that long for the drawings to become satisfying—just a few months of keeping going. There were (and are) still occasional botched pictures. Things don’t always go right. Being ok with disappointment, learning from it and moving on might just be the most important thing.
A year later, we left for that trip. I drew lots. I have the sketchbooks on a shelf, but more importantly, I draw.
I never meant to become an artist. I just thought it would be cool to record a trip. But learning to draw profoundly changed my life, and now I don’t have a choice whether to continue. I must draw. It gives my life meaning. Sketchbooks became a perpetual project, led to a worldwide community of friends, and did wonders for my mental health.
I reckon “I can’t draw” just means you haven’t started yet. If that’s you, there’s a cool journey ahead of you when you pick up that pen. Just remember to keep going.
Anyone who has learnt to write, can draw. It's that simple. Only they have to make up their mind and commence. They would definitely be surprised at the progress they make. You are the best example for that. You have scaled to a very large extent with persistence. That's really great. Keep it up and grow.
I appreciate your approach here. My wife is working hard to become a better drawer, and she often hears people say, “Oh, you have a gift,” as if people are born knowing how to draw. What she has found is that it just takes a real commitment to learn how to really see the world and then a hell of a lot of practice. Watching her learn and grow has really expanded my appreciation for people who draw in interesting, illuminating ways … like you.