When I was little I used to wish that by the time I was old enough to get a job that that the career of "professional coloring book artist" would actually exist. I soon realized that spending hours perfecting the way Bugs Bunny or Mickey Mouse looked didn't really matter.
I soon moved my artistic 'talents' onto paper through words. Learning that my ability to express myself in words was far better then my expression verbally. Now I simply know that at times it gets me through the day. It empties the abyss I call a brain. It filters the muck, the confusion and the blessings.
I still color in coloring books. Wasted time on Big Bird and careful concentration not to go out of the lines. A finished product that will most likely go unseen. Sometimes it's the point of doing it.
I suppose that's like most things. It's just the point of doing it. You have no reason or an inclination of receiving feedback. Sometimes it just is.
I find myself humbled daily.