If you give an artist a cubicle...
Just sayin'
Happy Thursday, everyone!
Melancholy, My Dad, and the Charcoal Tree
When you're like me, and you lost your dad at 13, it's easy to romanticize how you perceive a man who's been gone for the vast majority of your life. I like to remember the Marine, the idealist, the brilliant man my dad was, even though he was also an alcoholic, a child abuse victim, and ultimately lifestyled himself to death until he left my mom with 6 kids and no real career to support us. I didn't learn much from my dad, sadly, because I was too young at the time to tap the brilliance part, while we still had him.
He did, however, one afternoon in our smoky, cluttered 80s living room, teach me how to draw a tree.
My dad was a charcoal artist who never pursued honing his gift outside of high school. Probably not a lot of opportunities to draw still life or models while drill instructing on Parris Island, I'm assuming. But I can't count the number of times he sat in his kind-of-gross recliner and told me how he drew a series of beautiful nudes during art less…
He did, however, one afternoon in our smoky, cluttered 80s living room, teach me how to draw a tree.
My dad was a charcoal artist who never pursued honing his gift outside of high school. Probably not a lot of opportunities to draw still life or models while drill instructing on Parris Island, I'm assuming. But I can't count the number of times he sat in his kind-of-gross recliner and told me how he drew a series of beautiful nudes during art less…
LOL--that is absolutely true! I'm now having flashbacks to my cubicle days--ugh. *shudders with horror and revulsion* Thank you for posting this. It is totally true to life.
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