I've always liked drawing, even though I've never been good at it or spent time learning. But for me, drawing was an escape, a way to distance myself from reality and heal my mind.
Nine years ago, after an argument, my mother kicked me out of the house and threw all my drawings in the trash. Since then, I haven't felt like picking up a pencil or even been motivated to draw anything.
Today, after all these years, I've invested time and excitement into creating my first self-portrait.
It's not good, it's full of imperfections, but i finally enjoyed painting again
