Sheldon asked as I searched for my drawing in the pile of artwork located on the table at the front wall of the classroom. “I am. . . I am here,” I replied. I was absent from school more often than not; It was no secret that I put myself under too much pressure and that it made me sick. “What about you?” I asked after a slight pause. “I am. . . here,” I frowned at him as I gathered my supplies and found a seat at one of the tables in the back of the room. Mr. Sheldon had lost his wife to cancer a few weeks prior. I admired his strength, although beneath the surface I could tell he was grieving by the weary expression in his eyes. I felt we had an understanding of one another, for he was avoiding his grief by teaching, and I was avoiding my depression by working on …show more content…
I sat there for a few minutes studying my drawing closely. I did not understand why my drawing still looked wrong, I began to doubt my abilities, and in frustration I questioned why I even try to create art. Then, I realized how tense I was and took a few deep breaths; I began to re-draw the eyes once again. Still, the lion appeared afraid, not on the prowl ready to hunt. I finally forfeit and decided to call it done. I added a few final highlights with my eraser before signing it with my name and date in the right hand corner. I studied my drawing for a few moments longer to insure I was completely finished. I decided I did not care how technically correct it was. My lion had the appearance of sadness and I felt sad, my drawing communicated what I could not put into words and that had more meaning in that moment than