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How It Starts

…from as far back as I can remember I have made, “things”. I remember before I began school, at my grandmother’s home in Detroit and working at her kitchen table, where we would spend hours together drawing, coloring, cutting and gluing shapes, making things. Once I began school, Catholic nuns complained to my mother that I was always drawing. My books were always covered with my drawings. Friends would ask me to draw this or that and they would watch me. My father had skills as a draftsman and he passed his training on to me. My mother developed an interest in ceramics and I remember watching her paint the pieces before they were fired. My older cousin, Ron, had skills in painting and drawing. I loved visiting with him to see his latest psychedelic paintings that covered the walls of his basement where he worked, as the MC5 blasted on a record player. A particular memory from the fourth grade stands out in my mind. A teacher invited her artist daughter to visit our class and during her visit she gave us an assignment that consisted of a sheet of newsprint paper that had a single green mark on it and instructed us to draw something that began with this mark. Each student’s sheet had a different green mark. I recall being excited by the challenge of the assignment and dove into it without hesitation! My finished drawing consisted of three one-eyed clowns surrounded by balloons. She gave my work much praise for its composition and color and I was thrilled that a “real” artist acknowledged my ability. Her recognition determined my life course. I would be inspired by other teacher/artists throughout my education, but none so affecting as from this chance encounter from the fourth grade. Art has been a constant in my life ever since.

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