My Grand Attempt to Capture Sam Houston on Paper
So, the other day, I got this idea in my head, “I’m gonna draw Sam Houston!” Seemed like a decent way to spend an afternoon, right? Connect with a bit of history, maybe even impress myself with some hidden artistic talent. Famous last words.
I pulled out all the gear. Pencils – I got your 2H, your HB, your 6B, the whole shebang. Got my fancy sketchpad, the one I bought ages ago thinking I’d become the next big thing. Even found an eraser that wasn’t rock hard. I looked up a bunch of portraits online. You know, the classic ones, him looking all stern and important. Thought to myself, “How hard can it be?”
Well, let me tell you. It was hard. First, the face shape. I tried a light oval. Nope, looked like an egg. Tried a more squared-off jaw. Now he looked like a cartoon tough guy. Then came the features, oh boy:
- His eyes: One was always higher than the other, or they’d be looking in different directions like he was trying to spot a squirrel and a bird at the same time.
- His nose: Looked more like a ski slope half the time.
- His mouth: Either too smiley or too frowny, never just… presidential.
- And don’t even get me started on the hair. That man had some serious hair, and mine looked like a bird’s nest had landed on his head.
After about an hour, my paper was more eraser dust than drawing. It was a mess, a total smudgy disaster.
It kinda reminded me of this one time, back in middle school, we had this big group project. We were supposed to build a model of the Alamo. Sounds cool, right? But it was a disaster from the get-go. We had one kid who thought he was the boss, another who just wanted to glue everything to everything else, and then there was me, trying to make tiny, historically accurate windows out of toothpicks. What a nightmare. We had cardboard, sugar cubes, play-doh – the works. It was supposed to be a team effort, but it felt more like everyone was building their own separate, terrible Alamo on the same piece of cardboard. It ended up looking like a melted birthday cake someone had stepped on.
Anyway, back to Sam. After that lovely trip down memory lane, looking at my smudged-up paper, I just kinda sighed. I tried a different approach. Maybe focus on just the outline? Or just do a caricature? Nope. Everything I tried just made it worse. My Sam Houston looked less like a founding father and more like a confused old man who’d lost his hat. It wasn’t inspiring; it was just frustrating.
So, what did I do? Did I persevere? Did I finally unlock my inner artist? Nah. I crumpled up the paper. Then I smoothed it out, looked at it again, and crumpled it up for good. Some days, you just gotta know when to quit. Maybe I’ll stick to stick figures. Or, you know, just admiring actual portraits of Sam Houston drawn by people who actually know what they’re doing. That seems like a much better use of my time, honestly. Drawing him? Not for me, not today, probably not ever. I think I’ll just go read a book about him instead. Much less pressure.
