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How I Found My Way Back to Art

By the Artist Eddie Settles


I noticed art long before I understood what art really was. I was about four years old, still small enough that the world towered above me, but big enough to pay attention. My Uncle Johnny was the first artist I ever knew. He would sit with a comic book or the newspaper in front of him and bring the images to life on paper. He studied them, line for line, shape for shape, and then recreated them with a pencil like it was nothing. I watched him with a kind of silent amazement. I didn’t have the words for it then, but I understood the process. Look. Observe. Translate. Repeat.


And I wanted to do it too.


I started copying comic characters the same way he did. At first, my drawings were far from perfect, but I kept practicing. By second grade, my ability was noticeable. I remember drawing The Simpsons and my teacher taking those sketches, blowing them up, laminating them, and pinning them around the classroom. I remember feeling seen. In fourth grade, I turned in an art assignment and my teacher stood over my shoulder while I drew, then explained to the class exactly how I was doing it. She described the same method I learned from watching my uncle.


That was the beginning.


Throughout elementary school I drew constantly. Then, somewhere during my teenage years, the consistency faded. I still loved cartoons. I still loved comics. But I wasn’t drawing much anymore. I cannot even say why. Life just shifted, and drawing slowly slipped to the background.

In high school I drew here and there. Nothing serious. Nothing consistent. It wasn’t until my mid to late twenties that art found its way back to me. I worked in a call center at the time, and while I was on the phones I would doodle. Just pen and paper. No pencil. I wanted to see if I could train myself to draw without erasing. That taught me patience, precision, and discipline. It also made me pay attention to detail on a level I had not before.


But everything I drew was black and white. I did not know how to work with color. Honestly, I did not even want to. It felt like a world I did not understand yet.


11/05/2009
11/05/2009
01/22/2007
01/22/2007

That changed when a well known artist from Erie, Pennsylvania named Kevin John introduced me to Prismacolor pencils. It was like a door opened. Another shift happened during a trip my wife and I took to Maui in 2012. There was something about the ocean, the light, the island air. I remember thinking to myself, without hesitation, I know how to paint. And the truth is, I had never seriously painted anything before that moment.

The Wharf Cinema Center
The Wharf Cinema Center
Paia Maui (2012)
Paia Maui (2012)

But I trusted it. I picked up paint for real. And I kept going.


Fast forward to today and I get paid to create. People commission me to bring their ideas to life. My art is on walls, in homes, in personal collections. Something that started with watching my uncle draw comic book characters on the living room floor has become a part of my identity and a part of my purpose.


Life has a way of circling back to the things that belong to us. Sometimes we don’t recognize the gift at first. Sometimes we step away from it. Sometimes it waits quietly until we are ready.

Art was always mine. I just had to return to it.

Now I create with gratitude. I create with intention. And I create knowing that every piece I make is connected to that four year old version of me, watching, learning, absorbing, and falling in love with the process for the very first time.


This is where I stand today: grounded in my talent, clear in my vision, and confident in my craft. I do not create because I have to. I create because I am called to. My work is bold, emotional, and alive because I am bold, emotional, and alive. This is my art. This is my gift. And I own it.

When you want a piece that holds meaning, presence, and soul, you come to me. I do not just draw. I translate experience into imagery. If you are ready to bring your vision to life, I am ready to create.

Just say when.



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