Inner Artist

When I was growing up, my favorite thing to do in the whole world was drawing. Give me a pencil and a pad of paper, and I was in heaven. One year for my birthday, my parents gave me a drawing kit by Jon Gnagy, whose popular 1960’s Learn to Draw show was must-see TV for me. Along with an instructional book that taught you to analyze objects in terms of spheres, cones, and pyramids, the box contained drawing pencils and paper, a soft eraser, a blending stick, and charcoal. I spent hours in my room, sitting on the floor, working through all the exercises.

As I got older, my favorite drawing medium became pen and ink. But sepia conté crayons, colored pencils, and pastels were also high on the list. Every summer, I would bring a drawing pad and implements on our family vacations to Cape Cod and sketch at the beach. I took summer art classes as a preteen and a drawing class in college, watercolor and drawing classes in my twenties, and since then, occasional classes at our wonderful art museum. For our young daughters, I would draw illustrations and, in a reprise of childhood, would bring my pencils and paper to the beach for our Block Island vacations.

In recent years, however, I have hardly drawn at all. Some of it has to do with damage to my hands from scleroderma. In fact, that’s probably the main reason. Not that I can’t still draw, but when I have a lot of ulcers, it’s just harder to hold a pencil for any length of time. Or so I tell myself. I use triangular rubber grips on my drawing pencils to ease the pressure, and that definitely helps. But something has been holding me back—most likely, just reluctance to push my hands too far.

Even so, I’ve had a New Year’s resolution for more than a year to get back to drawing, which I managed to do only twice in 2024. Each time, once sketching my African violet, and once on Block Island last June sketching Al at the beach, gave me great pleasure. But I still kept putting it off.

On Sunday, I decided to try again—this despite having five bandaged fingers right now. I needed to do something joyful and rejuvenating after a week of such dark news. I pulled out my colored pencils and my mostly empty drawing notebook, set up a vase of roses on a low stool, so I could look down into the blossoms, and drew. It was wonderful. I sank right back into that peaceful, meditative space of observation and interpretation. No matter the ulcers, I could still control the pencils as well as ever. When I finished, I felt relaxed and happy and in tune with my inner, non-verbal artist.

She’s been clamoring for attention. She deserves more.

Evelyn Herwitz blogs weekly about living fully with chronic disease, the inside of baseballs, turtles and frogs, J.S. Bach, the meaning of life and whatever else she happens to be thinking about at livingwithscleroderma.com. Please view Privacy Policy here.