There’s a tension in that line — the literal mark on the canvas — that most people miss.
It looks simple. Naive, even.
Loose. Free. Effortless.
But the irony is: it takes years to learn how not to try so hard.
The child’s line — uncorrected, unapologetic — isn’t a technique.
It’s a state of being.
You can’t fake it by holding the brush differently.
Or by making the mess look spontaneous.
You have to feel it.
Which means unlearning every rule about control, balance, and adult logic that told you what “good” should look like.
You have to get honest.
Not just with the canvas — but with yourself.
Because that line?
That mark that doesn’t care what it’s supposed to be?
That’s you, stripped of pretense.
It’s not a performance.
It’s a return.
To risk. To play. To vulnerability.
To what it feels like to make something without knowing how it’ll land.
Or if it even should.
That’s why it’s so hard to fake.
Because you can’t perform childlike.
You either are, or you’re pretending.
And art knows the difference.