When I was 10, 11, 12...somewhere in that age bracket, I was a would-be artist. I loved to draw and I also loved to paint. I had taken up painting with oils on canvas, inspired by my granddad, whose many oil paintings adorned the walls
of our house. As artists go, I was not much of one. I had not studied art, in fact, had not had a single art class...but, I THOUGHT I could draw and paint, and that was good enough for me. (OK, so the picture I painted of our monkey, Chico, was ruined when I used a bit too much linseed oil to thin the paint and his tail "ran"...LOL).
One day Dad stayed home sick from work. This was SO out of character for my father, who really NEVER seemed to get sick. But sick he was and home he stayed. In retrospect, it is rather clear where I get my "stay busy" personality, for Dad certainly was one to fill every waking moment. Home, sick and bored, he decided he would try HIS hand at painting. He borrowed a canvas and my tubes of black and white oils, and a paint brush.
Working from a photograph my mother had snapped of my sister in her underwear on the beach (at age 2), Dad set about his recreation. He was pretty good at it. He did not take long to bring that little snapshot to a full sized wall-worthy painting...and I do believe he completed it before he returned to work, having been home sick MAYBE three days. Of course, I was a wee bit miffed that HIS paint didn't run, and that HIS painting looked JUST like the photograph from which it was painted, but I could not help but love the painting.
And today it still graces the wall of Dad and Lynne's living room, a sweet picture of a sweet little girl, lovingly photographed by her mother, and later immortalized on canvas by her father. Simple, a child with a pail, oblivious to the world around her...intent on the water and sunlight dancing around her toes.
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