Day 83. Frustrated Artist

In yesterday’s post (addendum) I mentioned that I had originally wanted to be an art director, not a writer.  My mother used to tell me I never stopped drawing.  She always said that all my school notebooks were covered with doodles, from first grade through to the day I graduated from high school.

My grandmother had two drawers in a chest in her den, that were reserved for endless pieces of paper; and all my coloured pencils.  My father’s younger brother was in the stationery business; and once a week, like clockwork, he dropped by to bring me a fresh supply of paper.  I went through reams and reams of it.

As a child I went to art classes at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art; and my favourite subjects in school were art and English.  Always.  At the summer camp I went to, we put on a major production each year.  A play, usually one that had been on Broadway, and we Continue reading

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