Pound. Pound. Pound. “What is he building in there?” the music blasted back. Pound. Pound. Pound. “What the hell is he building?” the song responded to the pounding even louder now. My bedroom door was closed as I timidly hammered nails into the wall to proudly display my framed Kandinsky print, the only piece of “art” I owned.
I had just rented a room in a married couple’s house for my last semester of college. “You have the same name as our cat that recently passed away” they told me. It was a sign.
Although I was usually quiet as a mouse, my pounding on the wall evoked an even louder response from my new housemates and to be quite honest, I was a bit freaked out. Why were they playing this strange music? What were they trying to communicate to me? Who were these people I just moved in with?
That is how it started off with Robert and Marie. Robert was a welder and working on his masters of art. Marie quit a high paying business job to follow her dream of stage design and also went back to school to pursue an art degree. I was getting as general a degree as I possibly could in liberal arts and was almost done! I had no idea what I wanted to do or be.
The house was filled with Robert’s bright paintings and Marie’s antique furniture. The back garden of Marie’s flowers hosted Robert’s welded sculptures. The kitchen table was where Marie worked on all of her miniature models for theater productions. Robert’s studio was out back. Both were busy and I spent most of my time in my room with my door closed. My private haven.
At the time I didn’t realize I was an artist too. I went to class. I took notes. I came home. I worked several jobs. I went to the bars with friends. I went to sleep. But a part of this daily routine included doodling. Lots of doodling. My class notebooks were filled with drawings of voluptuous women chained so they could not move and fairies stuck in mud unable to fly, much like my feeling of being trapped in a classroom when there were many other things I wanted to be doing with my life. Like, for instance, flying with fairy wings to a bar.
As my last semester moved on I emerged from my thick shell of shyness and shared some of my doodling with Marie. She told me that my style reminded her of a children’s book illustrator. A spark ignited. I was so excited that she had seen something in me that I hadn’t noticed before. I started work on my first complete drawing since the art class I took first semester.
The picture was a daydream of fairies and dragons in a peaceful natural setting. I did my best with markers, pens and colored pencils. A new haven in my imagination was blooming. That was over a decade ago.
I think of this now after feeling a sense of contentment in some recent illustration work I completed. We never know who will influence our lives and how it will play out. Robert and Marie were the first “real” artists I knew. I have been encouraged and inspired by artists and their creations and I am honored that my art has touched the lives of others in return.
Whose art has touched your life? Who has inspired you to create?
I had just rented a room in a married couple’s house for my last semester of college. “You have the same name as our cat that recently passed away” they told me. It was a sign.
Although I was usually quiet as a mouse, my pounding on the wall evoked an even louder response from my new housemates and to be quite honest, I was a bit freaked out. Why were they playing this strange music? What were they trying to communicate to me? Who were these people I just moved in with?
That is how it started off with Robert and Marie. Robert was a welder and working on his masters of art. Marie quit a high paying business job to follow her dream of stage design and also went back to school to pursue an art degree. I was getting as general a degree as I possibly could in liberal arts and was almost done! I had no idea what I wanted to do or be.
The house was filled with Robert’s bright paintings and Marie’s antique furniture. The back garden of Marie’s flowers hosted Robert’s welded sculptures. The kitchen table was where Marie worked on all of her miniature models for theater productions. Robert’s studio was out back. Both were busy and I spent most of my time in my room with my door closed. My private haven.
At the time I didn’t realize I was an artist too. I went to class. I took notes. I came home. I worked several jobs. I went to the bars with friends. I went to sleep. But a part of this daily routine included doodling. Lots of doodling. My class notebooks were filled with drawings of voluptuous women chained so they could not move and fairies stuck in mud unable to fly, much like my feeling of being trapped in a classroom when there were many other things I wanted to be doing with my life. Like, for instance, flying with fairy wings to a bar.
As my last semester moved on I emerged from my thick shell of shyness and shared some of my doodling with Marie. She told me that my style reminded her of a children’s book illustrator. A spark ignited. I was so excited that she had seen something in me that I hadn’t noticed before. I started work on my first complete drawing since the art class I took first semester.
The picture was a daydream of fairies and dragons in a peaceful natural setting. I did my best with markers, pens and colored pencils. A new haven in my imagination was blooming. That was over a decade ago.
I think of this now after feeling a sense of contentment in some recent illustration work I completed. We never know who will influence our lives and how it will play out. Robert and Marie were the first “real” artists I knew. I have been encouraged and inspired by artists and their creations and I am honored that my art has touched the lives of others in return.
Whose art has touched your life? Who has inspired you to create?
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