The thought of picking up a paintbrush and creating something once made me giddy, but now it makes me nauseous.

The first great love of my life was art. 

I was always the art girl in school, doodling on the edges of my paper and trying way too hard on any creative assignments. As I got older, my skills advanced and I was fully entranced with the creative process.

The secondary art education system was demanding and draining, which caused me to turn on myself and my passions. Pouring so much forced meaning into every piece I created was stripping me of the reason I wanted to create art, which was simply to make it. 

Forced expression led to a lack thereof. Art and I broke up.

The work to restore my love—get back together with my ex—is still underway. But maybe I shouldn’t go back. Maybe it is too far gone. 

Maybe it was the fact that my art teacher was also my swim coach and I think too much time together made us clash. Having a single creative grader for three years forced my artwork to fit a rubric instead of fitting myself. 

The only reason I didn’t drop the class was because it was a two-year course and I had already invested so much of my time and energy into my exhibition. I wasn’t about to let that emotional turmoil be for nothing.

To be honest, I don’t know if it was all worth it, pushing myself so much that I broke up with art. Seeing my work in the senior exhibition was satisfying, but it also felt melancholy looking at the passion that had once burned so brightly.

Secondary art education sticks a thorn in the side of unsuspecting teens and their creative freedom. 

The idea that these classes allow for personal expression through artwork is misleading. You can express yourself as much as you want within the rubric, with a cohesive theme and perfect execution if you care at all about the grade you earn.

My falling out with art was like a heartbreak that chips away slowly: little flakes of passion fell to the ground piece by piece, and before I knew it, the flakes were all gone.

The brushes and canvases in my room collected dust, acrylic and oil paint separated, paper pads remained blank and the colored pencils stayed sharpened.

Perhaps there is an inkling of romance left somewhere, waiting for me to reignite it. 

Taking the pressure off of creativity is the most important part. Odds are, the spark is still there, and it needs to come back stronger in its own time. 

Have a craft night with friends, paint a picture for no one but yourself. Just make some art that only brings you joy.