With creative people there is no set definition of what a creative person must look like, act like, or be. The stereotype for artists is usually messy hair, clothes that were worn yesterday and all through the night, and most likely a bit of paint, ink, or clay smeared across their left cheek from the overwhelming, pent-up frustration (and most likely, exhaustion) from working for hours to get a single detail to utter perfection. At the age of 10 I was so happy to be painting that I didn’t really care about the final outcome of my paintings. I can’t say that I have the same method now as I did then. My end results have definitely improved since I was a 10-year-old who was given a canvas, paintbrushes, and free reign over what I wanted to paint and how I wanted to paint it.
I can spend hours on getting the curve of a line to exactly how I need it to look — the detail-oriented side of me comes out, because I want my work to reflect the beauty that I see. Even the slightest change of color or angle of a line can alter the whole feel of a painting, drawing, or ceramic piece — because it is usually the smallest things that are the most beautiful.
Art is therapeutic for me in the sense that I slow myself down from the hectic world that I live in to study and recreate the small details that makes up my intricate world.