Sit Down and Draw

Sit Down and Draw

How I Find Time to Do Art (Every Day)

We all know those artists who only appear on social media once in a blue moon. I am one of them. My disappearing acts aren't because I lack ideas, but because I’m a chronic procrastinator. I get caught up overthinking every idea and waiting for the “perfect” time to draw, which means months go by without me posting a thing.

And when I finally do post, and somebody asks, “So, how long does it take you to finish a drawing?” I’m not quite sure what to say. Because my working hours are so disjointed, I could work on a piece for a minute, rest, then come back to it over and over. Without a set block of drawing time, it's hard to count up all those scattered minutes to give anyone a real answer.

I’d blame not drawing on life getting in the way, but even when I had the freedom, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up my pen. I’d tell myself maybe I wasn’t feeling it, then let days of being away from the canvas turn into weeks and months, until I wasn’t even logging into my art account anymore. I would stop interacting with art altogether.

Sometimes I’d feel the creative spark, but when I would stand in front of that empty canvas, my mind would go blank, and I’d end up not drawing at all. Sometimes I’d tell myself “I don't have enough references,” or “I just need to find more inspo!”

When art felt like a massive project that required hours of uninterrupted perfection, it was easier to just scroll online. When my days were tightly scheduled, finding a “perfect” three-hour block to draw was impossible.

I realized that if I waited for the perfect time, I’d never create again. Life, of course, does get in the way, but eventually, I had to stop making excuses.

So, I started stealing pockets of time and gave myself an assignment: every day, for just five minutes, draw.

It could be whatever was around me: people passing by, a certain character that would pop into my head; anything to force myself to put pencil to paper or stylus to screen. I could be waiting for the bus or chilling on my bed. I’ve realized that art doesn't have to be confined to the desk I tie myself to. After those five minutes, I'd put away my sketchbook and wait for tomorrow to do it all over again.

These drawings didn't have to be perfect; they didn't even have to look right. Yet they reminded me that art isn't a shift I clock in to. What made these specific drawings so important to me wasn't their technical quality, but rather what they represented: a total release from pressure. For the first time in months, I wasn't drawing to post online or impress anyone. I was drawing just to draw.

Once the action became routine, I started to want to bend the rules a little. I'd draw for five minutes, and then find myself disregarding the timer and coming back to it. As the timer went off, the hardest part–starting–was already behind me. Five minutes was just enough time to break through my initial hesitation and get lost in the process. Instead of art feeling like a rigid chore or a timed “shift”, continuing felt like a choice I was making purely for myself. Permitting myself to keep going whenever I wanted restored my confidence as an artist. It allowed my art to evolve naturally past five-minute sketches into more complete works I’m proud of.

My assignment proved that even in the middle of a chaotic life, my creativity belongs entirely to me. I don't need a perfect schedule to create. I owe it to my skill, to my passion, and to myself: in that little chunk of the day, I just need to sit down and draw.