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When I was just five years old, I discovered my passion for drawing. One sunny afternoon, I picked up a pencil and decided to try my hand at something new: drawing a portrait. I had seen portraits before in books and on TV, and I was fascinated by how artists could capture the likeness of a person with just a few strokes of a pencil. I wanted to see if I could do it too.
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I sat at the kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper in front of me, feeling both excited and a little nervous. I decided to draw a portrait of my grandmother, who was always so kind and loving. She had a warm smile and twinkling eyes, and I wanted to capture that on paper. I started with her face, carefully sketching the outline. I remember struggling to get the shape just right, but I kept going, erasing and redrawing until I was satisfied.
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As I continued, I began to realize that drawing a portrait was not as easy as I had thought. It took a lot of patience and attention to detail. I focused on her eyes, trying to replicate their sparkle, and her smile, which was always so comforting. My small hands worked diligently, and I could feel myself becoming more and more immersed in my work.
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After what felt like hours, I finally put down my pencil and looked at my creation. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine, and I felt a sense of pride that I had never felt before. My grandmother came over to see what I had drawn, and her face lit up with a smile. She hugged me and told me that my drawing was beautiful, and that I had a real talent.
