Dancing on The Canvas

Dancing on The Canvas 

By: John Kazerooni

When I draw, I am perhaps the worst artist one could imagine. My strokes are clumsy, and my lines far from perfect. Yet, despite my lack of skill, I can’t help but move my pen, driven by the need to express the emotions tangled within me. My hand, no master of art, still moves in sync with my thoughts, and my fingers stumble across the paper like an untrained dancer. The blank sheet becomes a stage, not for grace, but for release, as my mind and my pen awkwardly find their rhythm.

Each mark I make, though messy and flawed, brings me joy. It’s a chaotic dance of freedom, where I follow no rules and defy all expectations, simply allowing my hands to fly. My lines, crooked and wild, become symbols of my sorrow or joy. While they might seem meaningless to others, to me they speak volumes. I might be the worst drawer, but in those unsteady strokes, I find myself soaring, carried by the pure, imperfect beauty of my expression.

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