Permission To Be Creative

I sat in class with my 8th grade head on the table. I was ashamed. Dread climbed up from my stomach and formed a knot in my throat as I anticipated telling my parents about the D grade I had just received in Art. I was a straight A student. A “D” was absolutely unacceptable, especially in Art of all subjects.

I loved Art.

I didn’t understand all of the principles but I loved creating things. Painting was not really my thing, but I loved line drawing. Making those detailed lines of brick in a perspective drawing of a house thrilled me. I could represent what I saw in the real world. And oh the pottery; shaping clay into a cup or a bowl on the potter’s wheel or building a box from clay ropes. I loved to work with clay.

But that D would change everything.

I internalized that I am not creative.

The long term impact was to repress a vital part of my being. I associated creativity with only the visual arts and accepted that I did not measure up. I have even worn that as a proud badge of honor while secretly I wanted to be involved in art.

Occasionally I would confess to close friends about how that D grade came to be. I honestly did not think I deserved it. It was not even based on a lack of skill. It was based on not turning in a major project. To this day I swear I did turn it in, but somehow it was lost. Knowing myself, I can’t imagine how my perfectionistic tendencies would not turn in a project. Even in Junior High that was out of character. I appealed the grade to no avail. The teacher was always right and not to be challenged.

That one incident had long term effects. I was not encouraged to further any Art activities. In fact, I was blatantly discouraged.

The stinging continued with occasional jibes at my expense. It became a joke in the family, even though I didn’t think it was funny, and it stoked the fire of embarrassment within me.

From that point on, I would say in casual conversation, “Oh, I’m no good at art. Can’t even draw a stick man straight.” My companions and I would all laugh at my self-deprecating joke. But the sting of that D in Art was still there underlying it all.

I felt “less than”.

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