There are many forms through which one can revisit the past: music, books, photographs, discarded notes. One of the more vivid forms is rekindling old hobbies (in my case, swimming, drawing, and envisioning playgrounds as fantastical ships and mythical obstacles).
I tried my hand at drawing today. First proper attempt in a while. It felt sadly foreign. Lines went astray, circles resembled ovals, and faces had slanted proportions.
As a kid, I drew sketches and graphite works, partly because I didn’t know how to deal with colors, but mostly because I liked the paradox of simplicity and excruciating detail (even as a kid, I was somewhat drawn toward dichotomic relationships). There’s this one drawing of a boat from years ago, and though the lines are thick and the details rough, it’s brutally honest in its enthusiasm. The type of enthusiasm that I want to revisit.
I’ll work. Slowly, surely, every day, back to a familiar hand. Back to a familiar crooked smile.