I had aimed to write this blog post by the end of December, 2024, but here I am mid-January 2025 and I am staring at this empty page unsure of what to write.
I began drawing birds as I was yanking myself fist by fist out of a depression hole and mental health low. I’d gotten divorced, sought shelter and care with friends and strangers who became friends and then family, moved to a new city, got diagnosed with PTSD, adjusted meds and worked through sooooo much therapy – and I was feeling myself becoming almost daily, more and more myself. So, I started doing the things I had always loved, and that meant drawing.
The problem was, I had lost touch with the version of myself who believed I could still draw. It felt awkward and strange just trying to put lines on a page without too much judgement or stress. I needed to just make marks. Draw. I gave myself a goal: fill up this sketchbook. Fill it up with birds and funny strange phrases that feel true to where you are in your head right now. Emotional Birds.
I filled up that sketchbook, and gave myself permission to rest. After all, that had been quite a lot of birds, hadn’t it? I’d posted all the drawings/completed illustrations on instagram and was generally underwhelmed by the initial response. It seemed like nothing I was doing was being received well, or perhaps not received at all. I reminded myself how social media reacts when you’re not consistent, and through the depths of a drawn out divorce that took over a year, I’d been … well, inconsistent would be generous. But I am trying to be generous with myself. And as a little time passed, and I did some more digital illustration work, I felt the itch to pick up a pencil again.
The funny thing is, I have a whole stash of sketchbooks. Different sizes, papers, textures. Ready and waiting for me lined up on the shelf of our walk-in-closet that has become my makeshift office. Why not? I asked myself. If I like to draw birds, and if only one in every… say, every 10 birds is “successful” (meaning other people seem to like it and are willing to pay money to own some version of it), could that be ok? Could I give myself permission to just keep drawing birds?
When you are in art school, you inevitably talk about the strengths of series. To keep working on and with an idea. Some artists will play with the same subject off and on, even weaving through other kinds of work at the same time, for their entire lives. It seemed to me that if drawing birds was working to keep me drawing, period, then it was something worth my time and energy. After all, clawing out of a dark place is hard work, and when you finally do it, you want to celebrate.
I just kept on drawing birds, and scribbling down phrases or thoughts that felt honest and real to my own life. I’d laugh with friends and we’d come up with Emotional Bird ideas. My good friend Matt is responsible for more than a couple of my favorites.
One of my kiddos peered into my sketchbook one day and laughed. “I thought you said you were done with birds!” That was sometime last winter. He flipped through my sketchbook the other day, “Oh, yeah, I love this one!” He said. It was a bird I’d drawn wearing a starry cape and cap. I showed him the finished illustration: ‘but these are my emotional support side quests.’ We talked all about that, about ADHD and neurodivergence and ways it shows up in our daily lives– and how it can be silly and celebrated. It was then I noticed how much this series of birds has evolved. My drawings have changed so much since I started. They’ve improved and I have improved. They reflect my life, my family and also the directions we are all going in; onward.
What I'm Reading: In The Unlikely Event, Judy Blume
Listening To: Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer
Watching: Wicked