I have long loved drawing– from sketches and stick figures on printer paper, to brightly-colored and patterned characters and backgrounds melded not-so-seamlessly together on cheap drawing apps, to the more sophisticated designs of my adult life I have had people pay money for. I do not say this to sound dramatic, but I have also long had the cards stacked against me regarding my ability to put pen to paper and stylus to screen. Born with a cataract in one eye that has left me with very reduced vision on one side, depth perception is something I do not really have, and the way I see the world is not the same as the way almost anyone else does. This is not a tragedy in my mind– I have no idea what the average person sees, and I never have– so there is nothing to miss. I did not lose my vision, I simply never had it the way others do. It is disabling, and has been for most of my life. I struggle with things most people do not think twice about, from going down sets of stairs I have not been down before to seeing people coming up on my bad side to catching objects thrown my way (I will miss them 95% of the time). This is not a tragedy, nor something to pity– it is simply a fact of life.Â
In addition to my visual impairments, I live with a connective tissue disorder– we do not know exactly which one yet, as the genetic testing needed to figure that out is still in process– which essentially means that the glue that holds my bones, muscles, tendons, ligaments, skin, and valves together… doesn’t quite do what it should. I am not a doctor, and different people are impacted very differently, so please do not either take what I say here as gospel or attempt to apply it to either yourself or anyone else you may know with any of these conditions. That said, for me, my connective tissue disorder causes sometimes-intense joint pain, hypermobility, and sometimes causes different joints to either come partially or completely out of their socket from very normal activities. My pain and symptoms have gotten much worse as I have moved into my adult life, and… well, that isn’t so great when one of your favorite hobbies is something that requires a lot of hand movement and coordination.Â
What I could have done as my condition worsened and I lost more and more use of my hands without pain or further issues is put down my pencils, pack them away, and decide to find something else to do. Make no mistake– some folks do unfortunately hit the point where that is their only option, so please do not treat my situation as the only possibility or outcome. I am lucky that I am not at the point where I have had to give up on art, and have instead been able to adapt it to be mostly doable. I do not know what the future holds, and there could be a day where I can no longer draw at all– but I am not sitting around and waiting for that to happen. Slowly, as my hands became shakier and my body needed more and more breaks, I figured out how to turn my faults into techniques. Instead of smooth lineart and defined, cartoon-y features, I played with color and light. Rougher brushes became my preferred mediums, and I really honed in on the details of my favorite subjects to draw– animals and plants. In doing so, I learned more about the shapes and hues that make them up. Who knew a simple chickadee or crow had so many vibrant undertones? I may not be able to see depth the way others do myself, but in studying photographs and other works of the subjects I drew, I found myself able to translate the 2-dimensional qualities of depth present on a flat surface into depth that, I’ve been told, looks very realistic in my own work.Â
After several months of adapting my art style to my disabilities, a sort-of lightbulb went off in my brain. Unintentionally, but surely, I had found my artistic niche. All of those practice pet portraits I had done for friends… all of the birds, fruit, and flowers I had sketched and resketched… all of it had turned into something that was not only beautiful, but genuinely better than the work I had been creating before. My body was happier about it, and it had paid off. Not just figuratively, either– I decided one day on a whim to set up a Redbubble shop selling my designs, and began offering commissions marketed through social media– and people loved it. I do not have a huge following or make anywhere near enough to live on, but the feedback I have gotten on my art and the number of people I have been able to bring joy to with it feel like a direct and beautiful reflection of how I feel about my work. I do not think art is something that has to be marketed– it can, and should, be an act of joy and creation above all else, but getting to create a portrait of a beloved pet, place, or object for someone who deliberately sought out my art style and talent and seeing the joy they get out of the result is something I truly enjoy.Â
There is absolutely zero pressure to do so (this is not an ad), but if you would like to check out my art, I am on Instagram under the handle @blueberrydinodesigns and on Redbubble at blueberry-dino. 🙂