When I was a small child I wanted to be an artist or a writer. When I was around 6 or 7 we had an art activity where we went to the library and they had large pieces of paper and every colour available. We were allowed to be there as long as we were painting until we deemed the project done. I stayed until my canvas was completely filled with flowers every colour imaginable.
My painting was selected by our local art gallery for an exhibit of local art. I got to dress up for the show, and my parents took me out for a nice dinner. They got me art lessons, and encouraged my enjoyment of it.
When I was 14, my high-school art teacher ruined art class for me, by demanding everything be made according to the rubric for grading. I slowly stopped painting, or drawing. And didnt take another art class.
I still have the supplies, though.
If I got back into writing after a 12 year hiatus, maybe I can do that again, too.