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When I was six, I knew for a fact that I’d be an artist when I grew up. I saw the life in everything around me and wanted to draw it so that others could see it too. Like all children, I had conversations with my stuffed toys. Unlike most children, I had conversations with my furniture.
Adults always know better though. My grandma’s friend was a real artist. She painted with oil paints using her only hand (train accident), she was tall (or seemed like it to six-year-old me), skinny and very imposing (or “scary” if you are six).
“The girl has no talent,” she said.
“You’re such a clever girl and artists don’t make much money. You’ll get a better job,” Grandma said.
“Art school is too far from home,” Mom said.
When I looked in the mirror, it said that I was rather small, rosy-cheeked and plump, nothing like Grandma’s friend. So I went to a school with a focus in maths and physics. I was the best pupil in my grade. I had straight A’s throughout school and university, but ever since I was six, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I spent the next 10 years in an office. I built a really good career at one of the biggest communications agencies in my country. I was then recruited by another great agency for a very tasty job offer. And then I quit.
I moved to a different continent, where nobody knows me and all my experience and education means nothing. I now draw silly pictures about Vlad the Bear and Little Owl. They’re actually just about my daily life and how I see the world. I tuck my stuffed animals in the evening, I have arguments with my laptop and long conversations with the squirrels in my backyard.
I haven’t been this happy since I was six.

More info: bear-and-owl.com

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