As a part of my Textile design undergrad, were study blocks called Visual Communication and Impersonation, or gestalt making, which I dreaded. For weeks straight, we had to leave the textile studios, and instead do sculpture, real-life painting and drawing, and spatial, dance-like performances.
The kind of drawings that I had made since I was a child, figurative and illustrative, had granted me a spot in the school, but they were not the kind that the Visual Communication teacher wanted. She insisted on big brushstrokes, letting go of control and references, which did not fit my perfectionism. Thus, I was convinced that there, in those classes, I would somehow get busted and it would be clear that I possessed no real or pure artistic talent. Hence, around the same time, I started stating clearly and loudly, that I had no intention or wish to be an artist. I said I had no desire for the limitless, free, visual expressions that the artists supposedly sought for and that instead, I preferred the mathematical thread count of textiles. Today, it makes me smile as thankfully, the world appears less black and white.
I still happily maintain that I am not an artist. I think the order I seek to things sit in stark contrast with the place where thought-provoking and interesting art can be created. I draw with picture references, I make patterns and prints with rulers and tape measures, but let the watercolour spill out where it wants to.