I lounged on the beach in Mexico. Alone, I listened to the steady crash of the waves against the rocks. I sat under the tall palm trees hoping to be relieved of the sun’s rays. My hand danced over my sketch book. Each movement created a new mark, a new addition to the unfolding work of art. A stunning scene lay before me. I moved quickly as I attempted to capture the beauty of the gondola standing in the calming sea. To me, the peace of drawing amidst God’s creation feels like one of the best things ever. Halfway through my sketching, I noticed the presence of someone behind me. I turned around to see an older Mexican man standing with whom I would assume is his grandson. The little boy moved to stand behind the man, hiding a shy smile. His grandpa smiled at me and encouraged him to get a closer look at my drawing. I looked down at the drawing, thankful that I was far enough along that you could identify the gondola. The little boy moved and leaned in over my shoulder to watch me work. I smiled at him, and he returned it with his own big smile. They watched me draw for a little while longer. I wish that I could’ve talked with them, but I don’t know enough Spanish to carry on a decent conversation. The man called out to his grandson, and I saw the crinkles in his eyes lift to a smile.

“Muy bonita! Muy bonita,” he said to me before he and his grandson headed towards the water.

“Muy bonita” in Spanish means, “very nice” or “very pretty.” At that moment, I was so thankful for what little I knew of the Spanish language. If not, I probably would never know what he was saying to me. Since that simple comment, my outlook has never been the same. I remember watching the two play in the ocean together. I wanted so badly to somehow let them know how much joy they had given me. I have never had anyone appreciate my art in the way that they did. The fact that they reached out to me, a foreign stranger, just to tell me they liked my drawing means the world. I had been questioning my love for art at the time. No one around me cares about art. My family and friends couldn’t care less about my passion for it. To them, my passion for art was just a silly phase that would go away eventually. However, since that day, I knew that I would be doing art for the rest of my life. It was one of my happiest moments, to see the joy that I brought to them. And even though I sometimes have my doubts about my art, I remember that day and why I love art. Even if sometimes the people directly around me don’t appreciate my work, I can reach others. For, it’s a beautiful thing when you do something, not only because you love it, but also to bring joy to other people.