I wanted to be one. (Bad.)
I wanted to paint. (Really bad.)
I craved it. (Pathetic.)
But I didn't have "skills".
I would beg my mom to take me toAaron Brothers just so I could walk around and look at brushes and paints.
I never took art in junior high or high school because I was too intimidated.
My drawing was too cute and cartoon-like.
When I went to college, I took a watercolors class in the Summer.
The teacher assured us that it was the easiest course we would ever take at the University.
My C- proved otherwise.
Later, I came to find that my talents were in metals.
I can make jewelry, but I still SO admire those that can draw and paint.
I have come to realize, however, that I live with several talented little artists. My children have artistic skills that FAR outreach my own. I basque in the variety and cleverness of their art. They each have their own style...
I find that fascinating.
As I was doing my Monday morning walk-through to assess the weekend damage, I was so taken by their latest projects:
she even knows what is going on in her little head.
It's really awesome in person.
So many details...
I think it's so cool.
He practiced and practiced.
Now he's taking an art class and learning SO much.
(I'm so excited for him. And a little jealous.)
For not ever being an accomplished painter, I sure have lucked out in the offspring department. Now I get to rub shoulders with artists all. The. Time.