The Sculpture

I’ve never been good at drawing, painting or sculpting. My art class in Grade 8 was particularly stressful for me, as we needed to carve human faces onto the angled corners of a rectangle-shaped piece of clay. One of my classmates helped me create two intricate faces for my project, which included a detailed moustache. By helped, what I mean is that when he finished carving the faces for me, I took the sculpting knife and etched my name onto the bottom of the sculpture.

Later that school year, my parents brought the sculpture home from the school after a parent-teacher interview night. My mom loved this piece of art and displayed it proudly in our home. Every time I looked at it I would cringe and feel like a fraud. Despite telling my mom that someone else did the work, the sculpture remained, even 30 years later when my parents retired and moved into a smaller home.

Last year while visiting them, I helped the sculpture disappear. By helped, what I mean is that I threw it away in the garbage.

I should discard more things in my life that make me feel like a fraud as this was a liberating experience.

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