Why I Draw: Choosing Handcrafted Art
This past year, something changed.
I'd been drawing quietly in my free time for about four years up to this point. Creating art was always something I enjoyed, and now that the kids were getting older, I had more time to play with my colored pencils.
But this year I committed to making it real. I spent many years working for others, and the idea of finally turning those skills into something of my own had been quietly growing for years. I wanted to use my graphic design skills, my background in digital marketing, and my love of drawing and channel it into something more.
For the first time, I saw a path toward something that was entirely mine. A business I could run. A brand I could grow. Something I could build from the ground up. A chance to be my own boss doing work that meant something to me. And that idea was exciting.
However, the moment I made that commitment, a tension I hadn't expected emerged.
The world I was stepping into demanded speed. I felt I needed to move faster. I needed to create art fast and do it consistently to keep up with the demands of marketing a business. Especially for social media. Fast content, constant output, instant everything. But the work I was creating demanded the opposite. It demanded patience, presence, and methodical detail that only came with time.
In a world obsessed with speed — where technology moves fast, content has a shelf life of hours, and AI can generate art in seconds — why focus on craft? Why draw by hand at all?
The more I thought about that question, the more I realized it was about something deeper.
It was about why I draw.
My home studio
Drawing as Craft
For me, it starts with the craft.
Craft is a skilled activity — something made with a human touch, artistry, and technique. It's something practiced and refined over time. Mastery is part of that, and it's something I'm still working toward. In fact, I don't think I'll ever get there, but that's for another time. For me, the craft isn't just about the end result. It's about the process of getting there.
Sitting down with paper and colored pencils gives me something I don't find anywhere else. A break from screens, notifications, and the constant noise of the world. It's a unique space that is mine, and it offers me time to think, to reflect, to focus on one thing completely.
There's something different about creating with your hands. It slows you down. It forces you to be present. It builds a connection not just to the finished piece, but to the act of making itself.
In a world that prioritizes speed, drawing asks for patience.
That's why I draw.
Pink Lady Slipper Drawing
Drawing as Discovery
Drawing is also about discovery.
Every piece is a challenge — working out structure, shape, detail, and composition. You don't just create something. You learn something.
I'm a lifelong learner. I'm not trying to be dramatic or sound special, I just believe in the value of getting better. As people, we're imperfect, and there's something satisfying about the effort to improve.
Drawing feeds that. Each piece pushes me to experiment, to problem-solve, to figure things out on my own, and that matters to me. We live in a time of instant answers. You can search for anything online and get an immediate response. But when we skip straight to the answer, we miss the learning that happens in between — the struggle, the discovery, the growth.
Drawing doesn't allow that shortcut. It demands presence, and it requires you to work through the problem yourself. That's where the real value is.
That's why I draw.
Me and Luna - she shows constant disrespect to my craft.
Overcoming Self-Doubt
When you create and share your work, you're putting yourself out there in a way that feels different from almost anything else.
In many professions, your name isn't attached to the final product. In my work in digital marketing, I don't sign every campaign or email I create. But drawing is different.
Your art doesn't just have your name on it — it is you. It reflects your experiences, your perspective, your taste, your way of seeing the world. You're telling everyone who looks at it: this is me.
That can be hard for many of us. We all have self-doubt. We all wonder, is this good enough? Drawing has forced me to confront that question head-on — and to keep going anyway. It's taught me that showing up consistently matters more than waiting until the work feels perfect. That growth lives on the other side of doubt.
This isn't a short-term effort. It's a long-term journey.
That's why I draw.
Prairie Trillium - one of the most exciting finds this spring!
Drawing Connects Me to Nature
Sometimes drawing feels like more than a skill or a practice.
When I'm fully focused, everything else fades. There's no noise, no distractions, just the work in front of me. A stillness that's hard to find anywhere else. You could call it reflection. You could call it presence. At times it feels close to something spiritual.
But perhaps the most meaningful gift drawing has given me is a connection to nature. While I've always loved being outdoors, birds, and flowers, drawing has taken that connection to another level. Over the past year I've spent more time observing flowers than ever before. Watching the seasons change and when flowers bloom. How a flower blooms and how something as simple as a petal can hold extraordinary detail if you're willing to slow down and really look.
Drawing has taken that further than I ever expected. I'm not just seeing nature anymore. I'm studying it. I'm more aware of the nature around me than I've ever been. This deeper connection to the natural world is now at the heart of everything I create. It's why I draw flowers. It's why I care about the beauty and fragility of the natural world. And it's why I believe that art rooted in nature has the power to make people stop, look, and appreciate what surrounds them.
That connection is core to who I am.
That's why I draw.
Finding My Own Pace
I do find it interesting that this whole reflection started as a reaction to speed. To the pressure of building something in a world that never slows down. I've come to realize the answer isn't to choose fast or slow. It isn't about changing what I do to appease the algorithm of social media. It's to find my own pace — and hold onto it.
There's been a lot of conversation lately about AI-generated art. While I don't agree with using AI to create art, I understand why some do. Even though AI can create art, it can't replicate the satisfaction of creating something that is mine. The discovery that happens when you work through a problem on your own. The confidence that grows slowly from confronting self-doubt. The deep connection to nature that only comes from truly studying it — not just seeing it, but understanding it. AI can produce an image. It can't experience the process of making one. And for me, that process — the craft, the discovery, the growth, the connection — is everything.
The process won't change. Drawing will always be handcrafted, intentional, and slow by nature. That's not a limitation. That's the point. The craft, the discovery, the connection to nature — none of that works if I rush it. And I wouldn't want it to.
But I'm also learning to work smarter around it. To grow the business, build the brand, and improve my skills with practice and intention. To find ways to be more efficient without compromising the thing that makes this work worth doing in the first place.
The art will come as it comes. Slowly, carefully, with my own hands.
And in a world that demands instant results, I've decided that's enough.
I'd love to hear from you — do you have something in your life that asks you to slow down? A craft, a practice, a walk in nature? I'm building Illustrated Realms around exactly that idea — the beauty of slowing down and really seeing the world around us. Share your thoughts in the comments. I'd genuinely love to know.
