THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR WEEK 16, 2020

Playing the Artist

So, I open my front door one morning and a fairy grandmother is standing on my porch with a question. Given what I know in my elderhood, if not my dotage, what gift would I give myself as a teenager to carry forward throughout my life.

This is how I would answer today and maybe tomorrow as well. If there is something that I really want to do, then do it although you have no talent and less skill. Along the road, never compare yourself to anyone else.

In fourth grade, art class was every Tuesday and Thursday morning. My assigned seat was next to Bob Standard (Yes! I still remember his name, although I can’t remember the name of my first date.) Bob had red hair, a mass of freckles, artistic skills and over the top. He was drawing fully rendered 3-dimensional illustrations, while my best output was stick figures. Comparing my work to his work, I decided once and for all, that I was not an artist, could never be an artist, and never would be an artist.

       In college, I discovered “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” by Betty Edwards.  This book was written from the point of view that anyone can draw, and that learning to draw was simply a matter of perception and learning to how to “see” what one is looking at.  After completing the exercises in the book, my drawing skills expanded way beyond simple stick figures.  Sadly, the need to study for finals took me away from my artist explorations.

Housebound, I have returned to artistic endeavors and I am having a lot of fun!  Some days, I sketch with paper and felt-tip; others, I use Adobe Illustrator. Will you ever see my work in a magazine advertisement? No: neither will you see it hanging in a museum, nor will it auction for a thousand dollars.

My skills are limited: they always will be.  But day by day, the imaginative ways in which I can use these limited skills is expanding day by day.

New Month, New Year, New Decade

The Name is the Same BUT Who Were These People?

I was going through my box of old photos which I have bagged and dragged with me for years. At long last, I am sorting them, scanning them and saving them to my photo storage on Amazon.

Naturally, there were some pictures of myself. It was strange looking at those photos as they seemed to be of people who looked familiar, but with whom I had the faintest of nodding acquaintances.

It seems to me that once I lost the chubby cheeks of the toddler, my face has aged but the basic structure has stayed the same. If you knew me at twenty-four, would you have known me at seventy-three?