From the back of a magazine when I was a child, I sent in the “Draw the Deer and attend a prestigious Art School” form without my parents knowledge. I remember sitting proudly in my living room, looking at a man in a suit holding the very perfect likeness of Bambi I drew, and showing it to my less-than-pleased parents. I didn’t go to art school and was gently discouraged from sending in any more drawings to any more art schools.
In Junior High, I was labeled a “chicken-scratcher” by the art teacher. She didn’t break me of my habit of drawing precisely. I used an eraser FAR too much for her liking. Still life—drawing the bowl of fruit without looking at my paper—made me sweat.
Now many years later, I returned to my chicken-scratching ways and began painting again, creating fun and functional picture frames.
