Art...What is it? How to define it? Can everyone have it, be it, and create it?
Is it a natural gift? Or something we learn, acquire with practice and training?
Art, I love Art...whatever that is. I do not know if I learned it in my one class in basic drawing in my junior year in High School, or in the 2 years of Art History… or if it has always been there. I know I was drawing before I could write, I know I was drawing because it made me feel good…but the most important part of all I know that my mother was a painter, not a big fancy Picasso like, not even the ones you see in galleries, she never showed in galleries, and her paintings where not hanging in fancy homes…there where just in my home....
I remember a room in a home far away so long ago..... a 2 story home in Yaoundé, Cameroon, a child room with a whole wall painted with a scene portraying Disney Aristocats...I remember my mother painting an extra kitten...since we she like to have everything in 4, since we were 4 children.
I can still see the kittens, and I was so small then...
I remember a room in a home where the closest city was 6 hours way, where the school house had children from the age of 6 to 12 all in one room. A room where I was “supposed” to nap every afternoon, but a room I would sneak out off every afternoon, and I remember the wall full of drawings of princesses and unicorns, doggies and families, trees and castles all hanging by push pins and tape…pictures made by me, my own private gallery.
I remember a room in a big country home in Italy where canvases were laying around and toys everywhere, a big play room for her 4 children where she could paint and watch them play…
At the age of 8 I picked up my first paint brush, and under her guidance I selected the colors, the brushes and the technique on how to hold a brush, how to switch form one color to another since my mother painted with oils. I painted a house... an ugly house with strange dark colors because no matter what I did, my brushes where never clean enough, and I kept dragging one color over another, and my hand was shaking so the house had the famous lean od the Tower of Pisa, but my mother said it was beautiful, and I believed her. My first paining hung on the wall of the game room along side her paintings.
I never stopped painting, I never will, might take a break since life has a habit of getting in the way, but I’ll never stop…I love Art because it makes me happy, it allows me to be free to express myself in ways words can’t compare, and at the same time to hide a part of me I do not want to world to see…
I love Art...for Art reminds me of her.
Is it a natural gift? Or something we learn, acquire with practice and training?
Art, I love Art...whatever that is. I do not know if I learned it in my one class in basic drawing in my junior year in High School, or in the 2 years of Art History… or if it has always been there. I know I was drawing before I could write, I know I was drawing because it made me feel good…but the most important part of all I know that my mother was a painter, not a big fancy Picasso like, not even the ones you see in galleries, she never showed in galleries, and her paintings where not hanging in fancy homes…there where just in my home....
I remember a room in a home far away so long ago..... a 2 story home in Yaoundé, Cameroon, a child room with a whole wall painted with a scene portraying Disney Aristocats...I remember my mother painting an extra kitten...since we she like to have everything in 4, since we were 4 children.
I can still see the kittens, and I was so small then...
I remember a room in a home where the closest city was 6 hours way, where the school house had children from the age of 6 to 12 all in one room. A room where I was “supposed” to nap every afternoon, but a room I would sneak out off every afternoon, and I remember the wall full of drawings of princesses and unicorns, doggies and families, trees and castles all hanging by push pins and tape…pictures made by me, my own private gallery.
I remember a room in a big country home in Italy where canvases were laying around and toys everywhere, a big play room for her 4 children where she could paint and watch them play…
At the age of 8 I picked up my first paint brush, and under her guidance I selected the colors, the brushes and the technique on how to hold a brush, how to switch form one color to another since my mother painted with oils. I painted a house... an ugly house with strange dark colors because no matter what I did, my brushes where never clean enough, and I kept dragging one color over another, and my hand was shaking so the house had the famous lean od the Tower of Pisa, but my mother said it was beautiful, and I believed her. My first paining hung on the wall of the game room along side her paintings.
I never stopped painting, I never will, might take a break since life has a habit of getting in the way, but I’ll never stop…I love Art because it makes me happy, it allows me to be free to express myself in ways words can’t compare, and at the same time to hide a part of me I do not want to world to see…
I love Art...for Art reminds me of her.
Till the next timeNibbles
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