My parents are selling their beautiful homestead soon. The grounds are too large for them to keep up with. But it's breaking all of our hearts just a little bit. Today I went up there to help my Mum clear some boxes from the attic and I found something I'd never expected to find.

Those of you who read the story connected to [my first watercolour painting](https://steemit.com/watercolour/@tinypaleokitchen/my-teenage-burnout-and-a-recent-attempt-to-leave-it-behind) after my long sabbatical, might remember that art school burnt me out, and I made my mother get rid of all the pieces I'd made. I couldn't face them.

I honestly thought she had. But today, in a box full of old school notebooks, we found one of my sketches. I dated it at May 17th, 2001. You can see it in the right bottom corner.

I even remember the day that sketch was made. It was ridiculously cold for the time of year and my fingers were becoming numb. I had a hard time not dropping my pencil. 

Looking back on it now, I see the crippling standard I still tend to hold myself to. The expectations I have of myself, but can't possibly attain. You see, our teacher took us out into the park and allowed us all to choose our subject and to come back with a sketch. My classmates chose lamp posts or trash bins. I chose the facade of a classicistic building with frills and details, and a tree in the foreground.

When I look at it now, I see the charm of a sketch done on the fly, in the park, in the cold. I see the impulsive hand of a teenager and the charm that combination holds. Back then, all I saw was flawed, imperfect lines. It didn't speak to me then as it does now.

Seeing this is bringing back all sorts of memory. That same park was once the background of a haiku assignment from one of my Dutch teachers. In January three years earlier. It was even harder to hold onto our pens that day as we wrote poems about frozen ponds and snow like a white promise of the magnolias spring would bring. Those haiku's are all gone too. Bit of a shame, really, but not to be helped. But I that park was one of the first places where I found true creativity. To see a thing, and to make it your own.

Well, enough of my chatter. Let's see that sketch, shall we? I'm so glad to have it back. If it's the only piece I get back from that period, at least I have it. 

In honour of my Steemit tradition of poems and paintings, and in honour of the many haiku I wrote on a bench in that park, I wrote one to accompany this sketch as well.

<center>
![old sketch.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmRTdutUhJEciPe5CShyLFsSkWR1zR78AYh619LLJ1zNC3/old%20sketch.jpg)
</center>

<center>
Fingers going numb
As images come to life
Graphite on paper
</center>

This pencil drawing was made about a year before I gave up on art and refrained from touching pencil or paintbrushes for almost 15 years, I think. 

To think of the reason I left art behind, breaks my heart just a bit. I wish someone had known how to keep me going. But would I have found all of you? Would I have discovered how much I love to write if I had had my creative outlet all along?
Maybe it all happened as it was meant to after all.

As always, dear reader, thank you for sharing this with me.

*Hugs*

Tiny