From an early age, I’ve been a frustrated artist. When someone asked me what I wanted to be before the age of 9, I would tell them “I’m going to be an artist.” Sadly, things didn’t quite work out that way.
I was in for a rude shock, when, in third grade, I received a grade of C for an art class. I thought I’d drawn just a lovely cat, but my teacher, not recognizing it as such, gave me the horrible C (and I was pretty much a straight-A student).
I kept trying, but finally, by 8th grade, when everyone — including my parents — discouraged me in my art, I gave up. Now don’t go thinking everyone was mean to me. I was just bad, really bad.
Since then, I’ll have occasional moments when I think I might actually be artistic. All it takes is the purchase of some paints, paper, and brushes, and a few frustrating hours for me to recognize once again, that the talent just isn’t with me.
But, if I can’t be an artist, I can appreciate art. Over the years, I’ve spent many a happy day in art museums. I usually gravitate toward the impressionist or modern art sections of museums. I’ve even wandered into a number of contemporary art museums, but often find myself laughing more than anything else at some of the constructions.
But even more fun, has been the time I’ve spent at various art fairs in the summer. I’ve never been able to spend a lot of money on art, but each summer, I treat to myself to one piece of art. I have to shy away from the “award winners” at the shows (way too expensive for me), and search out some of the first-timers.
But just as I don’t have any formal artistic talent, I also don’t have any formal training in art appreciation. I just know what I like. And for the most part, what I like are bright splashes of modern art or beautiful pastel impressionistic paintings.
However, in the last few years I’ve also picked up a couple surrealistic South American paintings, including the one pictured here. I don’t have a clue what it’s supposed to represent, but I find it pretty intriguing. I even thought it was rather cheerful, with it’s pretty blue sky. Then, a few weeks ago, a friend saw it for the first time and told me it was scary, and asked how I could feel comfortable with it on my wall.
Hugh? Clearly she saw something in it that I didn’t. I’m going to go on thinking it’s cheery, but am not going to spend too much thought on just what might be escaping from those giant eggs.
So what about you, what do you like to hang on your walls?
My first memory is sitting with my mother on a blanket in our backyard surrounded by books and she is reading one of them to me. My love of reading was encouraged by my parents and it continues to today. I’ve gone through a lot of different genres over the years, but I currently primarily read mysteries (historical mysteries are my favorites) and romances (focusing on contemporaries, categories, and steampunk). When I’m not reading or working, I love to travel, knit, and work on various community projects.