Imagine a blank piece of paper, how exciting and scary such a simple thing is, what wonders or disasters it could bring to life as sinuous movements start to fill the space in the middle, unsatisfied with what is developing but refusing to erasing the mistakes, instead deciding to work on them to make something better. The beautiful process of creation, something that comes so easy to many people and that raises one important question in others, how does it work? How can something continuously grow embracing mistakes made and learning from them, and what if the drawing hand changes, and it does so more then it should, to the point where the creation itself gains consciousness and decides to just give up on waiting for others to continue filling in that piece of paper.
From the start the piece of paper comes to life, it doesn’t know what he is or what he’s doing there, until something soft and wonderful strokes him, and immediately does question become of second matter as the warm fuzzy feeling of the coarse paper sizzles with the tip of the fingers and in a matter of seconds after, with something pointy, and rougher but warm nonetheless, and every line is a new sensation, something new to learn and look forward to, but it soon stops as the hand unsatisfied tries to erase marks to solid to just fade away, but it hurts anyway, the friction the paper feels that through the eraser link the frustration from the fingers to the paper himself.And after that the once warm and reassuring hand becomes something to be afraid of, bored with the mistakes the paper is just a smothering burden for it now, and so the question the paper once forgot came back and more came along with them, and the fear of seeing one line go in the wrong direction rooted in the little piece of paper heart, to the point where nothing else mattered, except not making mistakes and being good, even if something else was under that fear, the piece of paper would create soft doodles, almost invisible ones, because behind that fear that was so much more, so knight would fight dragons on the top of a tower, and robots would fight against aliens and man for they’re freedom, and two people would love and embrace each other on a couch falling asleep while watching a movie, the piece of paper wanted something more than fear, and loneliness but it couldn’t reach it outside itself. So line after line, error after error, the piece of paper grew hidden from the hand and from others, and endured every rip that the hand brought with its eraser, he endured watching other drawings come to life and being free of mistakenly draw a line in a slightly different direction, and he learned that he had to let the hand go and let the doodle become the drawing he always wanted to show the world, drawing on and starting from the mistakes he made, not erasing them but showing them for how embarrassing they were, adding more space as time flew past him until it would consume him as well as what surrounded him.
And so a blank piece of paper is scary and exciting, and it needs help getting started, but we needn’t be afraid of making mistakes and improving what we do learning form them, while we need to stop reaching for a nonexistent and damaging research of perfection and just let ourselves fill the paper and attach some more to it with some Scotch tape and help from other hands that you makes you feel warm and not burned.