Complete honesty—in high school, I was the girl who desperately clutched her books like a life preserver as she walked down the hall avidly analyzing the linoleum and how her shoes met its surface. Making eye contact was an overwhelming experience. I had difficulty connecting with people because I was the odd homeschooled chick who didn’t know how to have a smooth conversation (unless I was talking about something I was passionate about, haha). But more than that, I was neurodivergent and I didn’t know how to operate my own body, yet. In my shyness, I was isolated and alone.
Drawing as a Social Tool
Author: Jeni Niquette
I've felt like "The Weirdo" my whole life.
My one method to connect was — maybe you guessed it — drawing in public. I couldn’t start conversations, but if I drew something juuust amazing enough, people might ask questions and then I could chat freely. Why?
When you’re drawing, you don’t need to make eye contact.
It was such a relief. I found myself drawing in the library vestibule, doodling through classes, and finding every opportunity I could to pull out my sketchbook. Having become known as an artist, I drew the cover of our yearbook as well as the cover of our graduation bulletin in my senior year. Drawing became my identity, and I was happy I’d finally found a way to connect with people.
When I got into college, I was around completely new people who had no preconceived expectations of my shyness. I committed to becoming a better conversationalist and plowing through eye contact until I could handle it. And I did! I got better. But the truth is, I didn’t become a natural. Rather, I became a master at operating my eyes. Today, eye contact is still a completely manual process for me; if you meet me and you’ve read this blog, you’ll know I’m choosing each precise moment when I look you in the eyes, as well as when I need to look away, so I can blend in and look like I am not, "the weirdo."
And you know what?
Just because I am making these hundreds of manual decisions when I interact with people, that does NOT mean it’s fake. I am still absolutely sincere.
For me, "manual" just means I require an extra step to move my behaviors from my heart to my eyes.
If anything, I’d argue that, with my manual eye contact process, I’m actually putting extra effort and precision into expressing my heart.
Putting this truth out there makes me feel vulnerable. Someone with this knowledge may return to feeling like I’m odd, even if I’m hiding it so very well. That’s a risk I’ve accepted with publishing this blog entry. In learning to become more accepting and kind with myself, I’m learning to be kinder to everyone I cross paths with, too. I hope you’ll extend your kindness to me as well, if you meet me.
And you know what else? I’ve been asking myself why I still care about getting my art out there into the world, and I think this entry gave me part of the answer:
I still want to connect with others, and deep down, I still use my art to share my heart.
If you see joy — if you sense heartfelt eye contact in my art — it is a perfect expression of my manual eye contact processes. I deliberately draw the expressions in my creatures to give you an understanding of that creature's feelings, just like I deliberately choose how to communicate my own feelings with my eyes.
Both my art and my eyes will tell you that I care, and that I’d love to chat. :)
The perfect story
Do you see what I see?
Join me in my favorite art card communities on Reddit!
It's no accident that I ended up drawn to creating sparkly stuff. I'm neurodivergent and I need it. Like actually NEED it. Let me tell you about my visual stim!
I have a new favorite thing--holographic lamination sheets. And I cannot. Stop. Glittering. ALL THE ART.
I have a burgeoning collection of ACEO/ATC art cards and I have a cool way to store and display them!
Learn my inexpensive alternative to watercolor masking fluid!