For some people, making art is a way of life.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't drawing.

I can't not draw. That is just how I relate with the world.

This is Molly Crabapple.

She's an artist and a journalist, and she's been making art her entire life.

When I'm happy, I draw, when I'm sad, I draw, when I bored, I draw, it is just, it's my language.

And the thing is, we all start out that way, right? I mean, pretty much from the time we can walk,

we're scribbling with crayons and magic markers. We draw stick figures with giant heads and big, fat, happy, smiling suns.

We cover sidewalks with chalk. We fill whole notebooks with

dragons and fairy princesses and mean, angry monsters. But then for some reason, somewhere along the way,

most of us just stop. We seem to lose the impulse to make art. I'm Anne Strain Champ today, on to the best of our knowledge, what can we learn from the people who didn't stop?

The drawing, the act of that, that discipline is like a life preserver.

It's like, even when you're physically beaten down, or even when you're depressed or anything, if you can just hang on to this, you can hang on.

That discipline can be the most powerful thing in the world.

For Molly Crabapple, art is a political tool.

It's a form of action, even a kind of investigative journalism.

With her pen and her sketchbook, she's documented the Arab Spring, the war in Syria, court proceedings at Guantanamo.

Her work has been published in Vanity Fair, Vice, and the New York Times, and it also hangs in the Museum of Modern Art. Her new memoir, Drawing Blood, is the story of how she came of age

as an artist and as a radical. I had been protesting for a long time. They come from

a very political household. I spent a lot of time protesting against the Iraq War. But there is a

sense with those Iraq war protests that even if we had 500,000 people on the street in New York,

this was absolutely futile. Power could have shrugged. It did not matter. And with Occupy, this was something that was actually

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