The Day I Buried My Orange Sun – Art in Perspective Part One

I still remember a moment in my kindergarten art class. We were told to draw a sun and paint a rainbow. Simple, right? But what stuck with me wasn’t the rainbow—it was the moment I dared to color my sun orange….

When the teacher said we could choose to draw our sun in either yellow or orange, I was thrilled. An orange sun felt bold, different, and completely mine. When we were sent off after instructions to complete our project, I finished mine quickly. I was so proud and excited about my little act of creativity, and started walking to the paint station. That’s when my teacher stopped me.

She pulled me aside and said:
“I am so sick of you finishing first at everything and ignoring my instructions. I want you to sit back down, and draw over your sun with yellow the right way.”

Tiny me sat down, devastated. I scribbled yellow over my orange sun, stressed that the orange still peeked through. Then I put my head on the desk, waiting for others to finish before I dared move again.

That memory is twenty years old, yet even as I write this, my chest aches and my jaw tightens. My body still remembers what it felt like to have my creative joy replaced with shame.

I don’t remember if I heard my teacher correctly, little me probably did in fact get over excited, rushed to get to the next step, and did not. But that moment regardless became a turning point. Through school and even in college for my degree in studio arts, I was constantly second-guessing myself. I always felt drawn to the abstract, color, shape, and form… but the voices in my life told me I could do better, to do it the “right way”. I poured myself into realism and the “right way ” to do art. Telling myself art had to be uniform and practical to be considered good. What if my art wasn’t good enough? What if I was wrong? My voice and perspective—my orange sun—felt like something to hide.

It took years after graduation to realize: art isn’t about “right” or “wrong.” It’s about perspective. No one else in the world carries my unique way of seeing. And the same goes for you.

When we view art, we hold space for how another person sees the world. When we create, we offer our own lens back in return. That is the beauty of art—not perfect technique, but perspective.

Looking back, I wish I could tell little Holly that the orange sun mattered. That the world needs more people bold enough to color outside the lines. And maybe, just maybe, reclaiming that orange sun is what taking back my passion really means. Let’s take a moment today to create what will make the little versions of ourselves proud.