Most of us, when we first start drawing as kids, don’t worry about perspective, proportion, or shading. We just draw. A stick figure can stand for a person, a messy circle with rays for the sun, and somehow it feels true. But as we grow older, we’re told to “do it right.” Art class starts teaching us rules - copy this, shade like that, make it look realistic. And while technique is valuable, something else quietly slips away: the freedom to simply see and translate the world without fear of “getting it wrong.”

Pablo Picasso once said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” It’s a striking reminder that what we often call “progress” in art can also be a kind of forgetting. We learn to imitate, but we forget how to play. We chase realism, but lose touch with raw perception. That’s why some of the most powerful art doesn’t look “perfect” at all - it feels alive, unpolished, closer to the way a child might capture the essence of a thing rather than its exact replica.

Unlearning to draw, then, isn’t about abandoning skill. It’s about peeling back the layers of training and self-criticism to rediscover the joy of drawing as exploration. When you let go of the pressure to perform, you can notice details you usually overlook - the curve of a leaf, the odd tilt of a shadow, the way faces aren’t symmetrical and that’s what makes them beautiful. You stop trying to make the world fit your technique, and instead allow your drawing to follow the world as it really is.

Maybe that’s the secret: drawing like a child again doesn’t mean ignoring what you’ve learned - it means returning to the place where curiosity comes first. The lines don’t have to be straight, the colors don’t have to match, and the result doesn’t have to impress anyone. It’s the act of seeing with fresh eyes, of trusting your hand to translate what your heart notices. And in that space, you rediscover the truth: art isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence.