My great-grandfather must have been a man who appreciated the arts. He taught his three sons an appreciation. My grandfather and his two brothers each had their talents – my grandfather sketches, his middle brother used to design and make jewellery and his youngest brother was a photographer with his own dark room.
When I was a child my grandfather encouraged my drawing and started teaching me how to sketch. I vividly remember sitting on the rocks and dock at Peggy’s Cove sketching the scenes around us, with him overseeing. I loved drawing and art and I love my grandfather, so the two things together, with the feeling that I was making him proud, remains a favourite memory.
I don’t remember when I stopped sketching and drawing and painting. I took and enjoyed art class in Grade 9. At some point I just had other things to do. I remember taking a sketchbook to the part in my later teenage years, and I know I did some drawing during my first year of college.
These days it’s something that I know I want to do, that I think about often, that I wish I could get better at, but actually finding the time, the inspiration and the nerve is another issue.
On my weekly list of things to get down ‘draw’ is always an item, and consistently not getting checked off.
Near our house there is an old barn. I drive by it often, almost daily. Every time I see the sun shining behind it I feel the same intense desire to draw it. To create a sketch and take the time to examine this old barn, the light behind it, the trees around it. There’s something I just love about it.
Finally the other day I stopped across the street and took a picture. I’ll have to get more or better pictures, or maybe take a walk up and sit across the street and take it all in.
I have the desire, I have my subject, I have the equipment, now I just have to do it.