In all the seemingly endless occupations that lay claim to the people in this beautiful and majestic world, I believe that there is no occupation more underappreciated than that of the artist.
I love drawing; the only problem is I’m horrible at it.
My admiration for a beautiful landscape painting or a perfectly designed sculpture is only matched by my unique ability to mess up a drawing.
Any man or woman can sketch something if given enough time and practice, but it takes true genius to screw up every time.
My impeccable inability to draw is well-known. My dogs become cats, and my cats become dogs so great is my struggle with the pencil and eraser. Pictionary teams stare in awe as I never fail to rise to the challenge. “Turtle!” they’ll cry. “No, no wait! It’s a moose!” I’ll shake my head and keep scribbling furiously at the paper before me. “Buffalo! It must be a buffalo!” I keep drawing, determined not to be distracted from my work as a plethora of incorrect animals continue to be called my way: zebra, lion, orangutan, ostrich, whale, leopard, TIME!
My compatriots will slump in exasperated defeat as the opposition smirks at a job well done.
“Penguin,” I will say. “It was a penguin.”
The room will erupt into a cacophony. “How is that a penguin?” they’ll cry. “The beak is all wrong!”
I’ll step back from the paper, admiring my masterpiece. It really does look like a moose.