I could never draw curved lines with my Etch-a-Sketch.
As artistic as I could be with a canvas of colorful words, I have never been able to draw, much less on an Etch-a-Sketch.
As a child, I had numerous of these through the years and each time I tried to channel the dormant artist in me – he never listened to my summons and he never materialized.
While I could craft a sentence replete with imagery and vivid, flowery language, I could not find the balance where the left and right knob perfect twists created the next Mona Lisa.
I always considered it a flaw.
How could I ever develop my own comic strip, generate my own line of greeting cards or author my own children’s book if I could not draw a lick?
Etch-a-Sketch always reminded me of those shortcomings.
I would never be able to create the perfect combination of verbiage and illustration to present my work to the world. I would have to depend on my command of language to draw the corresponding picture in the land of reading comprehension. My pictures would be reserved for the galleries of imagination, museums opened only in the reader’s mind for an audience of one.
I would have to be content with my artist’s brush being my pen, pencil or keyboard. My words would have to evoke the images to accompany my prose and this would have to be enough.
And it has been. I’ve accepted that I will never be able to draw, sketch, illustrate or paint, save for my collection of sentences on any given topic rendering an accompanying visual.
Still, I look at the Etch-a-Sketch and I dream.
And in my dreams those curved lines are very much a reality.