In a recent conversation with a friend, she mentioned that the first thing people ask when you tell them you practise art as a hobby is: “Are you good at it?” At first, this question seems perfectly normal. People want to know whether they should be impressed. But when did ability become the metric of a hobby, especially one that we engage in purely for enjoyment?
I’ve been practising art as a hobby since my childhood, but by no means does this translate into talent, or even ability. In fact, I’m pretty terrible at it, and looking back at old sketchbooks makes me cringe. Despite this, I still do it. I still sit down with water colours occasionally, and I still tote around a tiny sketchbook to draw the occasional landscape. Some might think it pointless to continue to engage with an activity that clearly hasn’t taken a liking to me, but that’s precisely why I do it.
Consistently going back to something you’re not good at not only teaches you patience, it teaches you humility. I have to accept that the work I produce will not be objectively great, or even good. And I’ll have to try and try again to create something that can even pass as mediocre. I do this because—prepare yourself, major cliché incoming—it’s not about the final product, it’s about the process, and the act of sitting down to create something for no one but yourself.
Being bad at art doesn’t mean that all its benefits are taken away. Many use its mediums as creative outlets, myself included. Whether it’s mindless doodling or a full-blown painting, it’s a way to activate a part of my brain I don’t get to use day-to-day when I’m drowning in the mathematical problem sets that comprise a regrettably large part of my Economics degree.
Ultimately, a hobby is just that—a hobby. I will not be making a living out of my slightly off-putting sketches any time soon, but that is not their purpose. It’s something I do purely for myself, with no pressure to be good at it.
Illustration by Katya Roberts@katyaillustrates for The Student