While having breakfast this morning, I sat with Danny's book in one hand and a sandwich in the other. I had bought a large purse several weeks ago that would easily carry my sketch book, a tin of 12 very nice colored pencils, 3 pencils for sketching, and Danny's book. I felt "ready" to draw and yet, I never did. I just read and reread and carried my supplies.
A lifelong opinion that an artist is born and not made is a difficult belief to dispell. It becomes the self-fulfilling prophecy. Having finished my breakfast, I pushed back the tray, closed the book and studied what was before me. Breakfast clutter? Why not? I opened my satchel and took out my spiral sketch pad and a pencil. Without further consideration, I began to sketch what I saw. My hand shook making my lines crooked, and all looked out of proportion, yet I continued. And then it was complete. While staring at my rendering, my 5-year-old granddaughter appeared at my table. "What'cha doin' Mamaw?" I turned the book around so that she could see. "Wow, Mamaw, you can draw food. I can't draw food, yet." My first critic - - a perky cutey - - who recognized what I had drawn and approved my sketch. What praise! I could have asked for no more.
