If I could give one piece of advice to young, teen artists, it wouldn't be about what to do better or what to avoid in their drawing practice, it would be this:
Get in the habit of putting the date on your sketchbook page when you're done with it.
If you do one drawing per page, you know what date you drew it. If you do many doodles per page, you know you did them between that date and the date on the last page.
It may all be easy to know off the top of your head right now, but ten years from now - yes, it's a long time but, by god, it will pass - you will wonder when exactly you drew that drawing.
If I could give a second piece of advice, it would be to never fully destroy a drawing that you actually put effort into. Doodles, sure. If you don't care about them, didn't put any real effort into them, whatever. But, if you sat down and put care and effort into a drawing - even a little bit - keep it. If you have too many notebooks, keep only the special hardcopies and scan the ones that don't matter as much.
If you're like me as a teenager, and you go into your art once every year or so and look through it all, you might get tired of it Once a year seems infrequent when you're 15. That same feeling of infrequency will require 3 years when you're 25. A year will seem like nothing.
So, when you get to the point where you're tired of seeing these same drawings over and over and judging yourself for your lower skill level, when you're tempted to delete the scans or toss out the originals, do not.
If they're hardcopies you're tempted to get rid of, scan them. If they're digital, simply make a folder called "The Vault" and send them there to die temporarily. You can pretend they're gone and quit looking at the same drawings you don't like much anymore. But, after ten years, when you're longing for the physical evidence that you were once a child, once less skilled than you are now, once more naive than you are now, they will be there, waiting for you.
25 may feel like an eternity from now, but when it arrives, 15 will feel like an eternity behind you. Don't let those early works that you poured hours of your days into slip away into the unforgiving void of time.
They matter. Your history matters.
It might not feel like it in the present, but nothing ever does. A boring old dining chair from 1700 might have been an unconcerning thing to leave in the shed to rot when it was 1700 but, in decent condition now, would be worth hundreds or thousands of dollars.
Monetary value may not come into it when it's a pencil sketch from junior high, but when you're older, you will become a collector of your own history, scraping up everything you can find like an auction-goer spending their whole paycheck on a fancy, handmade chair they feel compelled to save from the forgetfulness of human memory.
308 notes
·
View notes