Memories of collecting paper route money creeps into my art these days. Those chilly, snowy nights gave way to space heaters in my studio. Warm homes with girls curled up on couches, bathed in warm lamp light, are coming forth from the running colors dripping from my brush. Scenes from long ago stir in me as my eyes see lines forming a possible hip.
Standing just inside a front door I observe one of those pretty girls, curled up on a couch with open textbooks peeking out from under an arm or on a colorful rug. Some with cookies or cake crumbs on a plate that rests on the arm of a stuffed chair. I still remember the windows with warm glowing lamps and houses with slippery steps. Dogs were sounding my approach even before my frozen finger rang the bell. The smell of a finished dinner and sounds of children playing, as the Mrs.’s search for thirty five cents to pay me. The running colors are speaking of long ago…
Jordan drops the book and closes her eyes as I dash a color here and there, recalling that scene from my childhood. A vision of Bobby Hearst appears and it's time for a break. His sister was much nicer to recall, but his appearance calls for fresh colors to be laid out on my palette. Jordan slices an apple, as she returns to being my paper route girl.
Summertime meant colorful gardens with those girls I love in hammocks, or on porch swings. Trying not to stare, I focused on the nameless flowers lining the side of the Ms. Micheals house. Lynn Michaels, busy up a ladder scraping paint from a second floor window. “Toss me that wire brush, will you! “ I blushed looking up at her, pretty girls did that to me, even those in overalls covered with paint scrapings. Again, Jordan took on the part of Lynn Micheals. This time it was my memory of Lynn scrubbing clay flower pots out for Father Headermen I brought to canvas. Lynn was always doing things teen age girls weren't supposed to do, like changing the oil on her mother's car. At Mike's barber shop, guys told how they saw Lynn covered in black dirty oil changing spark plugs at Tossing's garage. Mike said Lynn sounded like the kind of girl you would want for a friend. None of us had cars, we said.
It was at Mike's I got my first art lessons, like which colors were fugitive and what acid free paper was. Mike was the one who asked Lynn to pose for me, and said I should draw from life as much as possible. Lynn was my first model. The portrait I did wasn't the greatest but Lynn liked it and asked for it. I didn't know it then and wouldn't know it till five years later but I had just taken a step to becoming an artist.
