A Child Who “Wasted” Paper

When my child was about two years old, he began drawing according to his own imagination.

He would draw one sheet after another, often for an hour or two without stopping. Before long, sheets of his “drafts” had piled up both on and beneath his desk.

One day, an elder was watching him draw.

My child picked up a sheet of paper, drew only a short line on it, and then calmly placed it onto the growing pile.

The elder immediately remarked:

“Why throw that one away? You only drew a little on it.”

My child simply replied:

“I already drew it wrong.”

What we saw was an almost blank sheet of paper with a tiny mark on it.

But in the child’s mind, it was already a complete drawing. He knew what he had intended to create, and he knew that this particular drawing was no longer the one he wanted.

I have never forgotten that little moment.

Art needs a kind of freedom that can sometimes seem unreasonable—even wasteful. The freedom to draw something wrong, to start again, to use another sheet of paper, another brushstroke, another hour, is part of the soil in which imagination can grow.

If every sheet of paper must be used “well,” every stroke must serve a purpose, and every attempt must produce a satisfactory result, we may end up making assignments rather than art.

A work that never wastes paper may be an exercise.But only by allowing ourselves to waste paper can we sometimes stumble upon something wonderful.

I treasure the freedom children have before they are taught how they should draw.

Because I believe:

Freedom is the soil in which art grows.