On the last day of my exhibit, Allan brought my father in to see it. Dad is 83 now and has to use a walker, but he made his way all around the exhibit, looking carefully at each painting and reading each story. Afterwards he looked at me with pride and softly said, "congratulations."
It makes me happy to show him my paintings. I remember holding up drawings I'd done of queens and ladies when I was only seven, while he proudly snapped my photo. At eleven I copied a painting by Henri deToulouse-Lautrec (Girl Reading) from one of the Time Life Library of Art books he'd bought me, using a set of Rembrandt pastels he'd picked out for me. He framed that drawing and it hung in our livingroom for many years. At 13, he asked me to hand paint the Christmas cards our family sent out that year.
So even though my eccentric, artistic French mother most likely passed me the artistic gene, it was my father who nurtured, supported and encouraged my artistic endeavors, and enabled me to be the artist I am today.
~Paint the Wind~