I wasn’t brought up sophisticated. Yet, somehow art found its way into my heart. Or maybe it was always there and I had to let it out?
I was fascinated by a print of tree roots my mom had hung by our front door. It was a rather popular print back in the 70’s and I was told it was something about upside down roots, but for the life of me, I can’t find an image online. Out the window with that idea.
(UPDATE!! Found and purchased from Goodwill for $2.50!!!!)
The next thought that came to mind was Bob Ross.
I watched him every weekend on PBS with my grandma. Him and his happy little leaf or happy little flower. The man was amazing! I learned so much watching and
wanted NEEDED to paint.
My medium? Paint-by-numbers.
For hours and hours I’d paint. I wanted to be Bob Ross.
This was also during my Black Beauty phase. (That’s one book in my history that was read til the cover fell off.) I’d save up the money my grandma paid me to clean her house on Saturdays and then ride my bike to Harvey’s (The Dime Store) to buy the newest Paint-by-Numbers. I wish I had some of those in a box for nostalgia’s sake.
That was about the time that I found out Frum’s Funeral Home, at the end of my block–the place where we’d ride our bikes to get candy–was a happening art hub. Yes. We bought candy from a funeral home.
Mrs. Frum gave oil painting lessons in the garage, next to the hearse. (Oh believe me, that’s a story! And you wonder why I’m warped?) So I’d save up change, get some candy and watch Mrs. Frum teach the lucky (read: rich) kid who got to take lessons. I never got to take lessons.
That didn’t stop me. I might not be Van Gogh or Picasso–but I’ve got a bit of a Dali mind. I’ve just got to let it out one color at a time.