that girl who rides the horses that dance

I also wanted to be a photographer. A veterinarian. A scientist. A writer. A dolphin trainer. A professional rider. A certified hobo. A sign spinner. A truck driver. An actress. A professional stunt person. A jockey. A neurologist (only when I was brainwashed). An event planner. A waitress. A historian. A small business owner. A horse trainer. A riding instructor. A bartender (I still secretly want to be one). Everything. 

But I had a passion for art. Growing up, I drew horses. And dogs. But mostly horses. Slowly, I started adding people. Trees. Other animals. Landscapes. 

I loved art. I loved being creative, coming up with an idea, and then seeing the final product. I loved having my fingers covered in charcoal or pastel or paint. I was fortunate to have teachers in school who encouraged this, and I was able to see a vast improvement in the quality of my worn, especially when I started high school. 

Then I met Libby, my Art 2 teacher. She encouraged me to expand my horizons, to figure out what my skills were, and to hone them. Under her tutelage I learned photoshop, the basics of photography, design, and refined my painting and pastels. 

She encouraged me, and I wound up taking two years of AP Studio Art my junior and senior years of high school. I loved this sort of work - the independence I had, and the ability to truly create. 

When I graduated and started my career at RIT, I thought I wanted to major in photography. After six weeks I realized I absolutely despised the program, and that I truly enjoyed taking pictures for myself, not others. I switched to biology and my interest in art slowly faded away. 

Oh, it would flare up. I would find myself sketching a horse in my notes, drawing Joe's profile on my index cards, focusing on a tiny detail and copying it exactly. 

This continued for six years. All throughout undergrad and graduate school. 

And now, that I'm out of the college bubble, am I eagerly picking up a charcoal and gettin back into sketching? 

Unfortunately, no. 

But. 

I do quick gesture drawings. I focus on the details of buildings. I watch the sharp-shinned hawk in her enclosure at the zoo, and I sketch her sitting on her perch. The pattern in her feathers. Her sharp glare. 

The day I find myself sketching a horse, sketching a face, sketching a hand in the margins of my notebook is the day I go to the store and buy myself a fine sketchbook and a collection of charcoals and pastels. On that day, I will begin sketching again. On that day, my sketchbook will go everywhere with me again. 

Now? No. Not yet.