This file cabinet was from my dad's house, one of the drawers held my childhood memories. My father was notorious for taping up notes and inspirational messages, see all of the tape residue that remains? The sticker that is still attached has my children's names and birthdates on it how strange it is to again see my father's handwriting. I'm going to clean up the file cabinet and keep it.
How times have changed, stories about Indians and Eskimos, which are now referred to as Native Americans and Inuits filled an October magazine that we all had to color. Drawings from my early school days show I didn't get my father's artist gene. My perspective of objects in my art work, and my knowledge of color words leaves me wondering how I got through school.
|I was 5 years old and in kindergarten when this was drawn.|
My father was very good at documenting my school work.
|Clearly the sun is yellow.|
What I was shocked to find was my watercolor paintings from a summer art class. I remember my dad would drive me to a women's house, not a clue of what her name was, for the two hours class. We would go upstairs to her attic with sloped ceilings and sit at old kitchen tables and chairs. One table was a favorite of all the students, it sat between the two slopes of the roof and in front of the window. If you got there early enough, you could get a seat.
I was not a very good art student and a pretty poor painter. Here is some of my pieces.
|Now I understand why people are afraid of clowns!|
What is very scary is that I won a safety poster contest. I remember the poster was a child's head with the caption, Drive Slow Children Move Fast. Maybe no one else entered or perhaps the judges needed glasses because clearly you can see I didn't have much talent.