Maybe I’m in the Wrong Profession

Art is my first love. It’s romantic in the way it colors my life. It began with coloring books and tracing paper, but as I grew older I realized that I loved the arts. Audio, visual, you name it. I took up piano and guitar; I took up drawing and painting. Although I tend to avoid the term “talent,” through practice I have developed an aptitude for drawing. It is where I go to escape the noise of life. Don’t get me wrong, I think life is beautiful! But occasionally the clamor and stress of being an active dreamer clouds the beauty of living.

Nathaniel also dealt with a clouded existence. On page 4 of the book, The Soloist, when asked if he remembers Mr. Lopez, Nathaniel says, “I remember your voice.” To me, this quote sums up Nathaniel’s story. He knows his mind is slipping, he knows his experiential knowledge is cloudy and foggy, but he is clear in a sound. He remembers the music of a person’s voice.

Like Nathaniel, my clearest moments are my most artistic ones. I too have found clarity in my art as an escape. I have found myself able to fully immerse myself in an art piece. I am able to lose myself in my drawing to the point where it’s almost meditative. If I am troubled, I puzzle out my issues while therapeutically making lines on a page. I have used this method of clarity for as long as I can remember. Often when I was young, I missed out on playing outside for the sanctuary of my art studio (my dining room table at home). But I believe that escaping into my art has helped me far more than hindered me. I have been able to connect with others via my drawings, and I have been able to clarify my world.

Recently, I doubted whether or not chemistry was right for me. I had gone to office hours and sat down with my professor, going over my last test question by question. I was stunned at the mistakes I made. My heart began to beat fast and I started to get tunnel vision, a byproduct of insecurities and seeming failure. I was torn, worried, and confused. I thought I was good enough to handle the class. Did this test prove otherwise? As the blood pounded in my ears, it seemed to echo my own concern: “Maybe I’m in the wrong profession.” I left my professor’s office for a secluded place on campus. I turned to my source of clarity; I began to draw.

I drew a heart, to remind me of my love for science. I became one with the smooth muscle, the contouring for depth, the shadows. Each line was deliberate. Each stipple was meaningful. I poured myself into the piece and escaped. My escape did not let me down. The vignette cleared, my mind stabilized. The drawing was by no means perfect. The heart was flawed, but after all, it’s only human. In its flaws I realized something fundamentally important about myself:

 

I am a work in progress. Like an unfinished canvas, although I am lacking now, I will continue to have depth and dimensions added to me as I learn and grow. I am a student. And I have definitely chosen the right profession.