Old home week continues.
Bet you didn’t know that when I was seven years old, my dad discovered my artistic talents, such as they were/are: he found me drawing Pluto (the Disney dog, not the planet) from an ad for an Art College in the TV guide. â€œCan you draw me?â€ Remember those?
Anyway, my parents, being no other than who they are, found a weekly art class for me. It was with Mrs. Hughes, a few miles over the mountain range near us. It went from 4pm to 6pm every Wednesday. There were from 3 to 7 students in the class. I learned basic color theoryâ€”something that equipped me to confidently disagree with something one of my high school teachers was trying to pass off as factâ€”as well as spatial theory and a host of different media (all quite analog).
Anyhoo, the penultimate goal was to apply all the theory and past experiences with tempera paints, watercolors, pastels (oil- and water-based) to creating oil paintings. She had genres of â€œcompulsoriesâ€ to paint, and after that, the end of the road: painting or drawing whatever you wanted, with help from her.
So I went on to paint a bunch of things, some of whichâ€”but only some, because Marie will state flatly what she likes and doesn’t likeâ€”hang in the living room of my folks’ house. I’ve snapped a few images of the paintings, which were completed by me at ages, oh, 14 through, say, 16.
Be gentle, gentle readers. (click for larger)