There is something about art that awakens something in you that you may have forgotten, or were even unaware of. I like to think that is what my art does for people. Years ago I hoped to sell my paintings to a Mr. Huff, who was opening a business in town. He wanted to decorate his office walls with original, locally done art. He thanked me for bringing my work to his home but decided against buying my art for his business. He said it was too personal. He was concerned people working for him, and those coming to his office, would be thinking of things like vacation or getting home. He wanted beautiful work that people would love to see, but wouldn't cause them to think about things other than work. "Daydreaming " is what my art would cause, he said.
The gift of daydreaming is exactly what I give myself. It's something I was born with. Some may even call it talent. Mr. Huff was right. I think my ability to daydream with paints and brushes help others to slip into a better place. I take people to places they would rather be, back to when life was simple. A wife being seductive, or the little girl that you read to years ago. The farm pond you skinny dipped in, the frog kept in a mason jar till mom released it while you slept. The kindly old neighbor whose lawn you mowed. These are my subjects and the daydreams I give others.
The brick layer just outside my seventh grade window, building our new church. The milkman bringing chocolate milk to school for my lunch. Nick, the school's janitor, spreading sawdust over a sick kid's morning breakfast. I may not have gotten A's or B's, and even C's were few, but somehow I developed my skill to daydream as I drew the bricklayer and the milkman along with Abe Lincoln and Ward Bond.
Somehow I managed to get through grade school. I can still feel the ruler and my ear being pinched while drawing Jane, who sat two rows away. Yes, the love of my life was worth coming close to losing an ear for, even if to her I had cooties.
Even now in my studio I dream of summer days as I'm doing a painting of cornflowers. Jane must have grandkids by now, maybe even great-grandkids. Daydreaming and painting.
