My art professor, a stern woman in her sixties named Professor Dela Cruz, took a interest in my work. She saw the technical struggle in my figure drawings but paused one day when she saw the quick, gestural sketches of the Nasugbu coastline in my personal pad.
"Your line is uncertain here," she said, pointing to a figure study.
"But here," her finger moved to a sketch of the old watchtower,
"there is feeling. There is memory. Stop trying to draw what you see. For now, draw what you remember. Draw what you feel."
Her advice resonated deeply. I was trying to copy reality when I should be interpreting my experience of it.