GETTING STARTED
As an artist I am often asked how I got started doing art. Well I do not remember when I tried to draw my first picture, but I surely remember when I first recognized myself as being driven to create. I often think that I did not choose art, it chose me and this was the moment I was chosen.
I was in seventh grade English class which was quite loud and unruly. Our teacher, Mrs. Woodruff, could not keep order to save her soul, and I was one of the guilty ones who caused the chaos (Sorry, Mrs. Woodruff). The student who sat in front of me was Howard. Our principal was Mr. Royer. Mr. Royer was a very scary kind of guy. I think he was in the military in his former life, and in his present life, a serial killer or contract killer which supplemented his teacher's salary. I had found a picture of a gorilla, had drawn a picture of it on my assignment, and said, "Howard, look! It's Mr. Royer!" Howard tried to shush me and I, suddenly and too late, realized that it had become quiet in the classroom and my voice had rung out over the silence. Yep, Mr. Royer had entered the room behind me. He boomed out, "Who is it?" With the mental alacrity of a 10-year-old, I croaked out, "Howard". Howard turned around and stared at me, the class choked back their giggles, and Mr. Royer said, "Hmph" and walked out of the room. I enjoyed the relief that I had not gotten into any real trouble and jumped back into the chaos that had resumed. Soon enough though, Mr. Royer came back into the classroom with a stack of typing paper and SLAMMED it down on my desk and demanded, "Here, now DRAW." He was determined to embarrass me, but any embarrassment that I should have felt was overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude! To me, this was a gift that stoked a fire that only just at that moment I had become aware of. I was thirsty to fill all the pages with doodles and pictures. So, with the dim-wittedness of said 10-year-old, I said, "Thank you!" all full of gratitude. I did not even have the awareness to pretend to be embarrassed. Again he growled "Hmph" and walked out again, his mission having failed. I started right away, drawing on the pages. English could wait. I had a DRIVE and it would not be denied! Soon enough though, not wanting to be bested by a seventh-grader,he returned to take back his stack of papers. Bummer. But too late! Little did he know that that day he was present at and facilitated the birth of an artist's life. It was the dawning of a drive that has never left me, I have had to leave it for periods of time, but when I do, I suffer.
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