A few weeks ago, I was asked by a follower whether I thought my creative ability was inherited. While the nature vs nurture debate can be equally argued, the question did make me look back upon the role art and creativity played in my family. My parents were products of Depression-era ingenuity and had very little money. Their immense pride in maintaining their home encouraged do-it-yourself projects and they eagerly tackled woodworking, incredible cooking, sewing, home-repair and gardening. Not only was the message clear--making things yourself was a good skill--but if you wanted quality time with them, it was easily found at their elbow, watching and learning.
I distinctly remember one particular time when I was almost three. My mother, very pregnant with her sixth child, took several weeks to complete two paint-by-number classic reproductions, Thomas Lawrence's 1794 "Pinkie" and Thomas Gainsborough's 1779 "The Blue Boy". I could smell it but barely see beyond the edge of the dining room table where she worked on them, reminding me not to touch the oil paints. For paint-by-number, they are incredibly detailed and, at 18" x 24", quite large. As a mother myself, I am thoroughly impressed that my mother desired something beautifully painted to adorn her walls and went about making that happen as inexpensively as she could. Although we might find it kitschy today, she took what little resources she and my father had and made her own art. Those paintings hung in their home for over fifty years. When she died in May, they came with me to my studio in North Carolina. Did I inherit my parents' creative abilities? I don't know. But every time I see those paintings mom did so many years ago, I am reminded of her will to create. It certainly was in the two of them and I know it compels me, too