When I was five or six years old, I drew a portrait of someone who was very important in my life. I can remember sitting in my yard looking over my handiwork and being so proud at the likeness of this person who was so very special to me. Feeling very satisfied that I had truly captured this person in #2 pencil on manilla paper, I went in search of this person knowing for sure that I would provoke great pleasure when he/she looked upon my beautifully rendered homage. If you remember manilla paper and admit it, then, you’ve dated yourself for sure J.
Now, one thing I should mention is that this person had a cosmetic blemish (a mole) on the face that has since been removed. In my childish naïveté, I didn’t understand the diplomacy of ignoring blemishes of this sort and I hadn't yet learned the concept of artistic license. In my artistic quest to render a true resemblance, I had included this in my drawing since it was, after all, really there.
When I approached my unwitting subject and displayed my masterpiece, the first thing this person saw was the mole on the sketch. While other comments may have been made prior to or after the comments on the mole, I don’t remember anything but being told that I wasn’t properly sensitive to the feelings of others by including such a blemish in my drawing.
As sometimes happens, I poured my soul into this endeavor thinking I would be met with nothing but praise and, yet, all I remembered from the encounter was the realization that I had provoked negative feelings in the very person who I was trying to uplift. Oh, well… Of course, as a small child, I couldn’t sort out what had happened to explain it away. So, I just quit drawing.
Forty some-odd years later, I picked up a pencil and a piece of paper to see if I could draw a simple snow-covered roofline to serve as the basis of a Christmas card design I was working on. None of the clipart I could find was exactly what I needed. So, I decided to try my hand at it. In those intervening years, I had rarely, if ever, put pencil to paper to draw anything. So, I was quite surprised that I was able to sketch the roof as simple a design as it was.
A few more years passed and by now I had begun my artistic journey. I decided that one purpose of my art would be to record images of my childhood that were not captured on film that I want to leave for my children. One such memory was a Ball jar sitting on the sun-splashed window sill in Grandma Hazel’s kitchen with a sweet potato vine growing in it. I hadn’t developed the faith yet to get an art table, so, I sat down at my kitchen table and began to draw from memory that little vignette of my childhood.
While I was drawing, one of my teenage daughters came into the kitchen and found me sitting there bent over my paper, drawing and erasing, drawing and erasing. I looked up and smiled at her as she stood watching over my shoulder. I was just about done when she walked in. So, as I put the finishing touches on the sketch, I held it up for her observation.
“What do you think?” I asked.
With a tentative note in her voice, she said, “It looks like a potato.”
“Great!” I exclaimed. “That’s what it is!”
She then laughed out loud with relief. “Really? Because I was just standing here trying to figure out what you were drawing and whether or not I should tell you that it looked like a potato without hurting your feelings.”