A folded note. A dried flower. An old invitation. Scrapbooks, photo albums, and yearbooks. Things we look through to remember our past. And, then there are the things totally forgotten. Things we once said, things we once heard, things we used to do. Lost loves in our lives.
I’m not talking about a man. I’m talking about something I use to do for hours. Whether sitting on my bed, or at the table, or anywhere the mood hit me. I use to draw.
My mother found a few drawings I had done during Junior High and High School. I did not remember that she had them and thought they were long gone. I vaguely recall each one. Probably for some assignment in art class, but I’m glad she felt compelled to keep them because I’m having trouble remembering the girl who drew them.
While they aren’t perfect or art gallery worthy, I do recall I spent hours doodling and drawing. Now, it is a lost talent I fear.
I once thought I’d attend the Art Institute in Chicago, major in Graphic Design and then move to New York and work for a big magazine. Never happened.
Through the years I continued my interest in creating things through other media. Ceramics. Decorating. Photograph. Computer graphics. But, to sit down in front of a blank piece of paper and create something – I’ve lost that along the way. Drawing something from a photograph, a memory, or real life use to come naturally for me, but now is a lost love.
The great thing about it – this lost love – it has been found. And, remembered. Possibly to be a love again. Time will tell. All I have for now is the signature of the girl who drew these way back when – the girl was me – so I know she’s in here somewhere.
Thanks, Mom – for saving these for me.
