Welcome back! It’s certainly nice of you 🙂

In my previous post I listed 15 reasons not to write, as a way of saying that, though writing is no walk in the park, I still enjoy doing it. A day or two later, I stumbled upon this nice quote from Pablo Picasso:

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.

That got me thinking (as it was probably meant to…) about my own childhood. I, of course, agree with Picasso’s assertion. The imaginative creations of kids, even if “rough around the edges” at times, are nothing short of inspiring and awesome. The reasons it is so are also fairly reasonable.

Kids are not limited by the years of having to “live in the real world”, the frowns of “adults” and the inhibitions that follow. They are being encouraged to express themselves, because, well… creativity is development. It’s growth and we’d love to be proud of our kids as they grow up to be wonderful grown ups.

Somewhere in all of that, we may forget that we were kids too. We sat down and drew stick figures with crayons or chalk and smiled from ear to ear when mom said it was just wonderful! We were also encouraged (hopefully) to express ourselves through one form of art or another.

Somewhere, it became either not cool enough, not good enough or one of many reasons we invent as a way to stop doing that. The sad thing is that no one else forced this on us. 99% of this is self-inflicted. Let me venture a wild guess. Most of you once thought “Well, I wish I could draw. I used to be quite good when I was a kid. Even grumpy uncle what’s-his-name said it was good. Oh, but that was just kids stuff. It’s not good enough…”

But it was good, damn it!

I once sat down with a family friend and told him the biggest fib in my illustrious fibbing career. I spun a Dickens sized tale about how my brother, my own skin and blood was in fact not my real brother. My parents, according to my story, found him in a ditch by the side of the road and adopted him as their own.

Horrified, the friend (a 30 plus years old man with kids) went to my mom and confessed that he never knew my brother was found and adopted this way. My mom of course replied “Neither did I.”

Sure, I likely told that horrible lie because I was jealous, or for whatever stupid reason. But man, did he ever buy it!

So I got to think that Picasso was onto something, and not only because as kids we just might be more imaginative. It’s also because as kids we stand behind our art with the conviction of people, unspoiled by life and years worth of baggage.

I always did my best not to grow up. To a certain extent for sure, but never to fully let go of my inner child. It may be detrimental in some areas, but when it comes to writing, I can only hope that the little liar who made up a fib so convincing about his own brother is still alive somewhere inside my head.

‘Cause I sure as hell am going to find him.

Then put him to some good work 🙂

  • What was the biggest lie you told?
  • Did anyone buy it?

Until next time

More Pablo Picasso:

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