A kid picks up a crayon for the first time, not really sure what to do with it. But as soon as the crayon touches the paper, something magical happens. The kid starts scribbling, then drawing, and suddenly she's in a whole new world. Colors blend, shapes appear, and she's totally caught up in the moment, lost in her own little masterpiece. It's messy, it's fun, and it doesn't have to make sense — it's just pure joy. In that simple act of drawing, she discovers what art is all about: expressing herself, no rules, just freedom.
Then this kid becomes an adult, and suddenly, art isn’t just about fun anymore. It’s about getting it right, making it look perfect or making it mean something deep. There’s pressure to impress, to create something worthy of being called art. The joy of just messing around with colors or doodling whatever comes to mind gets buried under layers of self-doubt and judgement. The freedom that once came so easily is now tangled up in what others might think, and that pure, simple connection to art gets lost in the noise.
Now this kid is in her fifties, and she's creating art like she did when she was a kid — like nobody's watching. But that's not all. She intends to publish her artwork, too.
