144. Real 


I often wonder, when looking back at the hand drawn sketches that I drew as a child, as to what my thought processes were all those years ago, as I scraped the colouring pencil heartily against the crisp enfolding white of the cheap A4 sheet brave enough to face my artistic assault. Although some sketches from my early years are somewhat nonsensical, there is a thematic consistency that sweeps through all that I drew. Namely, a love for nature, colour and joy. 

Sometimes I wonder whether my sketched sentiments in their naive, pure and formative state, offer a better representation of who I am; moreso than the man that stands tall with a beard and tattoos. 

How much of what is captured in our infantile art depicts an uninhibited view of what we truly are at the core? (A view many of us are only ever partial to as adults when consuming copious amounts of alcohol – and permitting that we are in the right mindset) 

According to the art from youth, I am a nature loving, happy go lucky hippy with a heart of gold. If nothing else, I would like to think that somewhere beneath my thickening layers of growing maturity and responsibility resides this benevolent and joyful spirit.

Note: the photo on this post is of drawing my sister drew as a child, not me. (thanks sis) 

(Eli Woodbine, Canada, 2015) 


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