Nobody ever thought I would make it. I didn’t believe it myself at first. As a boy, I loved creating new and interesting things with my hands. I would find many things around the farm and just start sculpting things. I felt that something was asking me to make it exist. I would be proud of myself when I was finished and admire my artwork. My father, however, did not approve of this and always thought it was childish and pointless. He would criticize my artwork and tell me that I was wasting my time. He said that I needed to work and stop playing around or I was going to get nowhere in life. I didn’t have many friends either. I liked keeping to myself and doing my own thing. Most boys didn’t find sculpting interesting either. I did not care, however.

I did not start caring till I became fourteen. My father was constantly nagging me about helping him with the family business and becoming a farmer. I did not want to. I just wanted to keep creating things. I tried to please him though, but I would somehow always make a mistake and cause problems. One day I just got sick of his nagging and decided to run off. I was sick of seeing the embarrassment in his eyes. I took off late one night with a few things - clothes, food, and my artwork. I did not know where I was going. I just wanted to prove to my father that I could make a life for myself as an artist.


At first it was nice just doing what I wanted to do and not having anyone criticize me. I would sculpt all day, and when I got tired, I’d find a bench or spot on the grass and fall asleep looking up at the stars. This happiness only lasted a few days though. I began to run out of food. I would try selling my sculptures, but nobody wanted to buy them. They would laugh in my face and say “you call that art. It doesn’t even look like anything!” At first I thought some people, like my father, just did not appreciate art, but after a few days had gone by and I had not sold anything, I began to doubt my work. Maybe I was not an artist. I tried to be positive, but I was starving and it was hard to sleep outside in the cold on an empty stomach. I was struggling. My father had been right; art gets you nowhere. I was ashamed of myself for not proving him wrong. I had nobody who believed in me. I felt worthless.

The next day I was not sure what to do. I did not know whether to go back home or to find work. It was a sunny day and I was working with a few things I found in the trash. I decided that this would be my last sculpture. As I continued sculpting, a beautiful woman came by and started watching me. I wasn’t sure what to say and then before I knew it, she smiled, put her thumb up and said, “Good job!” I smiled back at her and told her she was the first person to say that to me. She smiled again and walked away.

The next morning, I had decided to head back home and become a farmer. While I was throwing out my sculptures in the trash, a man came up to me. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was going back home to my disapproving father, and that I was nowhere near an artist. He then looked at me puzzled and said, “Well, my name is Picasso and I think you’ve got some talent.” He told me that no one can define art. He also said that I was more than welcome to stay with him and his artist friends and that they would help me. I later found out that it was his daughter who saw me the day before.

I decided to sculpt my thumb because it reminds me of how I felt the day when I saw Picasso’s daughter smiling at me with her thumb up. It also reminds me of how much I had to overcome to achieve success. I also made it as a symbol for other people, so that they too will believe in themselves and have confidence in what they do, even if others around them are negative. Things begin to look up when you least expect it! It happened to me! I later became interested in original printmaking and am now considered one of France’s most revolutionary and controversial artists.