The New Year often brings with it bold determinations of change. As the calendar ticks over into another 365 days, we take the opportunity to adjust our expectations for ourselves, to set new goals and to eradicate some bad habits.
than announcing to the world my resolutions for the new year – though I often privately bargain with myself, trading in promises I can never hope to keep. I don’t think I’m alone here. The three are reportedly “diet or eat healthier”, “exercise more” and “lose weight” – all completely understandable goals, set to a common theme and all with relatively vague parameters.
That vagueness certainly doesn’t serve us well, as reportedly 60 per cent of us make New Year’s resolutions but as little as come December 31.
Still, masochist that I am, and believer in the auspicious power of one year melting into another, in 2018 I decided to try one more time with a very specific and daunting resolution: learn to draw.
The concept of success was one of the greatest initial barriers to taking up my artsy resolution.
I love art, and , but I wondered if I could actually learn some proper art skills as an adult – especially since the idea of learning skills outside of a class or school is, frankly, terrifying. Without an instructor, without readings and grades, how on earth are we supposed to build up a new skill-set? Education researcher Ulrich Bosher insists, in his book Learn Better, that the discomfort associated with learning is normal: learning is supposed to be difficult! “When we’re a little bit out of our comfort zone, we’re a little more challenged,” , “and that helps us develop skills”.
You know the adage that anyone can learn anything with 10,000 hours practice? True or not, I held that close-to-heart, along with the words of Damien Hirst, the British contemporary artist most famous for , who said the great thing about art is “anyone can do it if you just believe”.
This artsy resolution, which I made quietly to myself at first, quickly became an obsession. I decided I wanted to learn drawing and painting skills, and improve noticeably over one year. To help keep my resolution focused, I set a few small milestones to attempt across the year: to draw my parents’ dogs, to paint my cat, to draw a convincing nude, to draw a landscape with texture and perspective, and to produce a self-portrait.
Incredibly, the very first thing I learned as I began to work was just how relaxing the process was. Finally, I had found a hobby I could do almost anywhere, which stripped away all external (and many internal) distractions and woes, and which filled me with an immediate sense of warmth and calm.
This won’t come as any surprise to those who’ve heard of the burgeoning well-being trend of “art therapy”, where patients engage in arts practice to connect to certain feelings or ideas they find it difficult to express through more traditional forms of talk therapy. One of the benefits of art therapy, according to American professor of psychiatry and neuroscience Dr Robert Ursano, is that “it puts you into a state of relaxation, which can be a safe space that’s known to you. You have a sense of control over that space”.
But practicing art as an amateur has taught me not to be so afraid to fail
As a woman, I found I was connecting to my artistic practice on multiple levels: not just with pride and accomplishment as my skills slowly developed, but also with an increasing sense of stability which began to form an important part of my weekly routine. I wasn’t just drawing on occasion, trying to build up specific skills and work toward my set milestones – I was making art constantly, in multiple mediums and with varying degrees of success.
The concept of success was one of the greatest initial barriers to taking up my artsy resolution. Failure can be a painful and humiliating thing to face, and any New Year’s resolution – in fact, all goal-setting – brings with it the threat of failure.
But practicing art as an amateur has taught me not to be so afraid to fail, because, naturally, not everything I make turns out. I have made some excruciatingly bad art in the past 12 months. But that’s just how it goes when you’re learning something new: you’re always going to end up with a few “first pancakes”, or .
First pancakes aside, I worked steadily for a year, discovering some of my favourite things to paint and draw. Now, 12 months on, I have a beloved box of 60 water colour pencils from my boyfriend, a penchant for moody self-portraits and a draw full of wobbly pastel nudes that I adore but have no idea what to do with. But I’m immensely proud, because even I can see the improvement in my skills, and how art has changed my life.
So, what’s my resolution for 2019? To bring art-making therapy to as many friends and family as possible, because art is best when it’s made – and shared – with friends.
Matilda Dixon-Smith is a freelance writer. You can follow Matilda on Twitter
