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Dear Diary: I’m not an artist

Throughout my seventeen years on this earth, I have come to the conclusion that life is seemingly drawn in the Pointillism period.

Art by Sylwia Holmes

Now if you are not familiar with art history, Pointillism is the use of various different coloured dots that come together to make a larger painting. When standing too close, the dots become chaotic and unintelligible. However the moment one takes a few steps back, the dots begin to connect and construct significance, and it is in this moment that I find the magic in this art form.

If I were to compare my life to a painting, it would be as if there are portions in the last few years that seem to have been painted by another artist’s hand. Venturing into high school, I faced obstacles that made me second guess my own moral standards, and these brush strokes in the wrong direction caused me a great deal of unhappiness. I slacked in school and surrounded myself with people who didn’t have the same moral standards as me. Back then, my mind went through an array of the darkest of hues and the person I became wasn’t someone I wanted to be. My optimistic attitude disappeared into a poisonous pit of pessimism and I was constantly frustrated with the situations in which I put myself. My grades tanked, I stopped pursuing my passions, I ended friendships that were once very important to me, and most harmfully of all, I blamed everyone else for my struggles.

At that point in my life, I blamed the darkness of the paint on anyone I could, never taking responsibility for my own actions. However, once I took a step back, cleaned my brush, and started over, I would have lived a life that I loved. Unfortunately, as my first year in high school progressive, the darkness continued spread before it dissipated. I became passive-aggressive with my family, I made a temporary toxic relationship my priority, and I lost all motivation for brought me the most joy: writing.

A shift towards brighter shades only began with the arrival of summer. I took time away from the toxic relationship and instead, spent more time with my family. I started reading and occasionally writing, something I had missed with every bone in my body. Transforming from its dismal state, and now inspired by all of the positivity around me, my life flourished. Bright greens from days spent reading in the grass, blues from the expanding ocean I visited, and pinks from my laughing cheeks all started flowing across the canvas.

There came a time after the paint dried that I naturally stepped back from the painting, saw the darkness mixed in with the bright blues of childhood and the yellows of laughter, and I could finally begin to connect the dots. Now a few years later, the dark hues painted so long ago only make the fresh paint look so much brighter.

Evidently, it is not always easy to simply step away from the canvas and understand all the challenges that will come in my life and their significance, but I am happy to say that I do now understand the parts of my life that have already been painted.

All the love, r.geller

P.S. Have fun painting.


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