I know that I was born an artist, I’ve always felt it way down deep in my soul. As a matter of fact, when I was a little girl I would always use “the whole box of crayons”! Yes-siree, sometimes, when there wasn’t enough room on the paper, I even used them on my bedroom walls. Well, unfortunately, I did that one too many times so my mother painted my bedroom a deep, dark shade of charcoal gray.
Today when I recall my dingy room I wonder if maybe, Mom, that might have been a bit extreme?
Frankly, I really didn’t care much about it, after all Mom did say that it matched the dark room (where Mom and Dad would develop their 35mm film and print black and white photographs).
Sometimes she’d let me go in the dark room with her to develop a few photographs myself. After which, wet photographs in hand, Mom would plug the canvas drier in to lay the dripping photographs carefully in the drier. The air in our kitchen was filled with the sweet smell of cooking paper. When the photos were dry and pressed, I’d wait to see how long it would be before Mom would get her flat little wooden cedar box. It was in that box where she kept her small tubes of oil paint, a little bottle of turpentine, toothpicks and cotton. She used these little treasures to add color to otherwise lifeless photographs.
Maybe that’s why I love color so much today! After all, I spent many of my formative years growing up in a dingy, charcoal gray bedroom, that could explain my need for color. Then again, it may just be that I watched the miracle of color as my Mother used her tinting treasures to bring lips, cheeks and more back to life.
Growing up I actually had a lot of fun with Mom in the dark room. There weren’t many kids that got to watch the miracle of photographic images, as they slowly appeared from what seemed a blank piece of paper.
And as for my dingy and deep dark charcoal gray bedroom walls, I was pretty busy playing outside and hanging out with Mom to spend much time in my bedroom those days. Love, Sharon