I started drawing late. Not when I was in high school or art school but around the time I got my first grey hairs.

It’s tempting to think that’s too late to learn new skills, that I could never make art meaningfully if I started at a mature age.

But I’ve come to realize that coming to art later in life might not just be a viable alternative. It might actually be a tremendous advantage.

Here’s what I’m thinking.

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I’ve lived more. When I was younger, I just hadn’t done that much. I hadn’t experienced being a parent, building a career, paying bills, facing challenges, living through decades of global change.

But as I get older, all of those experiences, the lessons, the losses, they are all part of the deep well of experiences I draw on to make art today. I just have more wisdom, more perspective, more to say.

I think about an artist like Bill Traylor, who first started drawing in his eighties — he used a lifetime of experiences as a former slave and sharecropper to create powerful, poignant, and original works of art.

Or Leonard Cohen, who released some of his most original and acclaimed works in his eighties, songs that drew on decades of spiritual experiences and life lessons. He made rich, soulful music he could never have written as a young musician.

Or Frank McCourt, who published his first book in his late 60s. Angela’s Ashes was so compelling to millions of readers because Frank had lived a lifetime before he sat down to write about it.

When you’ve seen more ways of living, more experiences, more cultures, and when you’ve absorbed libraries of books and films, music, and art, you can make fresh and insightful connections between those resources that you would never have noticed before.

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I’ve grown over the years. I’m more emotionally mature. I have a deeper understanding of complex emotions and human experiences. I’m less arrogant and cocksure. I don’t reduce things to black-and-white terms. I’m more able to be empathetic. To see beauty in all things. I have a long-term perspective that comes from putting all these miles on my tires.

Aging has given me patience. I don’t mind if it takes me 20 years to learn to watercolor or draw portraits. I enjoy deliberately practicing and developing my skills slowly. I don’t expect instant results anymore. I embrace mistakes and welcome them as lessons learned.

I love old actors who are “overnight” phenoms—people like Judy Dench, Morgan Freeman, Betty White, or Jean Smart, who became famous after many, many decades of acting in the background. They come into their own and the spotlight because they have deeply seasoned skills and insights that you only get from living a life.

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Money doesn’t matter as much to me. When I was young, I had to focus on earning a living, squirreling away my wages, supporting my family. I could never have afforded the investment of time and money I’d have needed to be a full-time artist. And through those years in the rat race, I measured my success only in terms of the numbers on my paycheck.

But now, I just don’t need that much. And making money is no longer what it’s all about. The riches I value in art are about life experiences, personal fulfillment, discoveries, and the joy of creating. And the pleasure of helping others make the same discoveries.

And, you know, I just don’t care so much about what other people think — if they think about me at all. Geezers like me are visible to most younger people. We can do whatever we want, and no one pays attention. That’s a load off. We don’t need to conform to expectations, so we are free to be authentic and original.

Think about Louise Bourgeois, Grandma Moses, Georgia O’Keefe, or Alice Neel — weird old ladies who changed the world.

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I know a lot about a lot. I have so many years of all kinds of experience from my previous career, transferrable skills like writing and editing and designing and making presentations. I know how to speak in public. To make videos. To manage big projects. To think critically.

And I know a lot of different types of people from all over the world. If I want to get collaborators for a creative project, I have thousands of great contacts in my database. That just comes from collecting people for many years. And every artist is better when they have a network to support and encourage their work.

I love the TV series about Julia Child. Although she had the energy and enthusiasm of a newcomer to cooking, publishing, and TV, she had also been a copywriter and worked in the clandestine intelligence services all over the world. She was no newbie.

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I’m better at taking risks. Because we’ve seen more and care less about what people think, mature artists are a lot better at breaking the rules and blazing new paths.

Look at Henri Rousseau, who worked as a customs clerk till his forties when he started painting naive and breakthrough art that is still inspiring.

Or David Hockney, who changes his style and his medium every few years, well into his eighties. He’s made art with Polaroids, fax machines, iPhones, iPads, and cars strapped with a dozen video cameras. Then he’ll turn around and paint landscapes on canvas and draw portraits in the style of Ingres. Like the honey badger, he don’t care.

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I’ve been reading about the distinction between “conceptual” and "experimental" creativity.

Conceptual innovators do their best through work early in their careers. They come up with bold, new ideas that strike like a lightning bolt and shake up the status quo with radical innovations. 🤯 Think Picasso coming up with cubism in his 20s. Or Basquiat, or Mozart, or Billy Eilish.

Then, there are experimental innovators whose creativity evolves over many years of trial and error. They’re usually older artists who focus on refining their ideas and techniques over time. Like Cezanne, who painted his most famous works after decades of steadily developing his ideas about how we see and how color works. Or Bach, Toni Morrison, Raymond Chandler.

You can make breakthroughs when you’re a whippersnapper. Or an old codger.

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Finally, the older I get, the more art is good medicine. Being creative has so many cognitive benefits; it stimulates my brain, improves my cognitive function, problem-solving skills, and resilience.

Art making promotes neuroplasticity, which means it encourages new brain connections, keeping the old necktop computer limber and fresh and updated. I pay more attention to details. I learn and remember better. Art helps me be mindful and relaxed. It reduces stress and anxiety and releases dopamine, which makes me feel good. Drawing improves my motor skills and my eye-hand coordination.

And if I ever feel lonely, art brings me friends all over the world — which is powerful medicine too.

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If you’ve been putting off starting your art life, get on it now. You can start by picking up a sketchbook and a pen and just drawing the world around you. In time you can try new media, join communities, take lessons, and spend the rest of your life growing and enriching your life with art.

You’re never too old to learn new things. If an old goat like me can do it, I know you can, too.

Your pal,

Danny

P.S. I realize this is a rather long essay but I felt it was an important topic to dig into. If you've managed to reach the end, I hope you found it worthwhile — I look forward to your thoughts. And if you know someone who would be interested, feel free to forward this email or refer them here.​