Here’s a short story about a distant memory from my childhood. My earliest memory of drawing.

Before I get into it, I’d like to point out that the intention of my blog is of course to be informative and helpful, but also to share some of my vulnerabilities as a person, as well as an artist.

So for today, I feel like doing a total overshare with of a bit of a funny/strange story about me!

I hope reading my story will encourage you to share yours!

“I’d rather be weird than boring” –Rebecca McKinsey

Artwork by my epic artist and friend, Ben Constantine

I have never been good at remembering how old I was in my memories. Sometimes I can vaguely recall who my teacher was at the time, which gives me a bit of a clue.

So for this memory, let's say I was about 6.

Someone rocked up to my childhood home, a brick house on a small hobby farm, inland on the Mornington Peninsula.

My parents had gotten a babysitter as they were heading out for the night, presumably to drink pre-mixed wild turkeys at a friend’s place. Dad would be the designated driver of course, as Mum loved to party (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!).

At some point during a standard evening of watching The Simpsons, playing video games and fighting with my younger brother, I snuck off with a secret purpose.

I wish I could remember what inspired me to do what I was about to do next.

Sometimes watching my memories in my mind’s eye, I felt as a child I didn’t have much autonomy. I was at the mercy of my instinctive behavior. Sometimes my tendencies might have appeared kind of demonic, sometimes they felt like strangely innocent ways of acting out.

Other times, my instincts were just really fucking weird.

I went out the backdoor into our yard and walked around the side of the house. There stood the garbage bins, much taller than me at the time. We’d had pizza for dinner the night before and knew that the pizza boxes would still be in the recycling bin.

I got the boxes out of the bin, then proceeded to take them along with a ballpoint pen to the privacy of my bedroom. They were plain white boxes, destined to somehow be the perfect canvas for my secret purpose!

Quietly, but heavy handedly, I covered the pizza boxes in drawings of my parents having sex.

I was apparently possessed by this spiritual demand. I remember one of the images was a birds eye view and that you could see both sets of genitals.

Hilariously, I feel they were very much in alignment with the early drawings of cavemen.

I think it was around the same time as when I had accidentally, disturbingly, walked in on my parents doing the thing we pretend they don’t do.

This is the earliest I can remember of my innate propensity for drawing my thoughts and feelings.

There’s more...

Being as young as I was, I guess I was still under the illusion that if I couldn’t see something anymore, it no longer existed. I have a vague memory of sneaking the now very decorative pizza boxes back into the bin. Some part of me knew that this should be kept a secret, and since I couldn’t really see into the bin, I assumed neither could my parents.

I went to bed as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

The next day I was called into my bedroom by my Dad for some reason. Whenever I was in trouble, it was almost always Dad who had to talk to me.

I walked in, and he was sitting on my bed, with a small pile of pizza boxes next to him.

I propped myself up next to him.

I recall him asking me questions along the lines of… “Who is that supposed to be?”, “How would you see this from that angle?”, and “...but, why?”

I was mortified, of course. I thought I’d gotten away with the perfect crime.

Why would someone even WANT to commit this type of crime? I have no idea.

I sometimes wonder if Dad remembers this. I keep meaning to bring this story up with him but also part of me would rather not have that conversation…

What’s your earliest memory of drawing? Bonus points if it’s weird or funny!

Love Ash

Ps. I still don’t know why I chose to draw on pizza boxes. Dad always had notepads lying around the telephone. Maybe I felt I needed something larger to draw on?

Pps. I never drew my parents naked again. However I do still prefer to draw people naked to this day.

Written by Ash Darq, with special thanks to my editor Visaic

MY EARLIEST DRAWING MEMORY

So for this memory, let's say I was about 6.

There’s more...