How I Started Painting…
In my twenties, I was sitting with my mother in a sunny wintry morning kitchen, having a cup of absolutely awful, near-cold coffee. Just chatting idly.
My sweet petite mother seemed concerned, as I was a visibly self-absorbed-down, where twenty-something men often are.
She carefully posed a question of her visibly bothered son.
“David…you seem down. Something’s bothering you?”
I shrugged with a terse, quick reaction,… “Nothing, just a little down.”
She got up and left the kitchen and, came back shortly with a pad of cheap watercolor paper and one of those kid’s pan paint sets, and gently slid them in front of me.
Looking directly into my face with her big, blue eyes she said,
“Get to work with these…and get busy and, get your mind off of yourself.”
For many years since, every painting I have done was through the lens of my mother’s gift.