When Perfection Wasn’t Enough

After that first spring memory with the maple sapling, about five years passed. I started school, and the only art I did was school-related — but I already knew I was good at it.

One day, a flyer appeared at our nearby community center, announcing a free drawing class — “Learn to draw anything.” I was skeptical but also intrigued. I begged my mother to let me join. She hesitated, but eventually said yes. I was elated — I was finally going to learn real art.

We were told to bring only one tool: a 4B pencil and an eraser. Nothing more. The basics of light and shadow were explained, along with shading techniques. Then came the assignment: Draw a plain, opaque vase placed on the table.

It took a couple of days to finish, but I remember working with intense focus. I captured the shape. I understood the light and shadows. My shading was neat and precise. The instructor praised my result — I felt proud, confident, accomplished.

I brought my drawing home, excited to show my mother. She looked at it, then at me — slightly amused. I was taken aback. “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

She gently replied: “It’s too sleek… and too perfect.”

I didn’t fully grasp her comment then. That was her way of telling me to leave the room for life to enter the painting.

Art is not only about technique. It is also about breath, feeling, and presence. Neatness impresses. But emotion — that makes art alive.

Perhaps that was the day I realized that drawing and art are two different things.

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