Yesterday, I sent you an essay about the pets Iâve had over the years. The few people who wrote back said it was the saddest thing they'd ever read. So I reread it.
You know what? They were right.
My pets have always brought me so much happiness and love. That essay was no way to commemorate them.
So let's try again.
My pug, Twiggy, is useless.
Sheâs cute and funny and beautiful and wonky and smart.
But she has no use.
She costs me a lot in dog food and treats and vet visits.
But she canât retrieve.
She canât herd.
She couldnât even catch the gopher that plagued our front lawn.
She canât fight bulls or bears. She canât pull a little cart full of milk jugs.
She wonât allow me to hang a little barrel of brandy on her collar.
She barely comes when I call her.
Useless.
Itâs not her fault.
Sheâs a pug.
Pugs are one of the oldest breeds in the world, developed by Chinese emperors. And they were bred to have no function except to stand around the palace, sit on the emperorâs lap, eat morsels of General Tsoâs chicken, shed, and occasionally bark at the UPS guy.
But still, I love her.
I spend 45 minutes a day walking her. I feed her. I throw the ball a bit.
And thatâs all I have to do to have this odd-looking, adoring creature around, making me happy.
Which brings me to my art.
Itâs sort of an odd-looking and essentially useless thing too.
It costs me time and money, but I know it wonât pay me back in kind.
And I have never asked it to.
I have never gotten mad at my art for not paying my rent or making me famous.
I have never expected it to look as good or work as hard as the art I see in galleries or museums.
Just as I have never thought of quitting my job to spend more time with my pug, Iâm fine with my art being a pal on the side.
We spend time together whenever we can and wish we could spend more, but then have to get back to our obligations.
My art is funny-looking, but that never makes me think to kick it to the curb. In fact, I find its flaws endearing.
My art is kind of unruly, disobedient, and makes a mess on the rug, but that never makes me despair of it. I accept it for what it is, and Iâm grateful that it helps me see the beauty in my life, even if it represents that beauty with wonky lines and muddy colors.
Just as I have met new friends while walking our dogs, my art has brought me into a wonderful community that doesnât judge or rank me by the quality of my drawings. We love talking about what we have in common, sharing stories of our struggles, encouraging each other with advice and pen recommendations.
Some of my friends have magnificent, purebred creations.
Others have runty, scruffy mongrels that yap and gnaw the furniture. Itâs all good.
I love my pug and my art. They are mine.
Imperfect, smart, odd, frustrating. Priceless.
Your pal,
Danny
P.S. Yesterday I told you about tomorrowâs workshop, Letâs Draw Pets. I hope youâll join my beloved pugs and me. Click here if youâd like to.
I loved reading this! Art =pug. Loved it. And I shall now look at pugs in a new light. Thank you