I remember in grade school creating a rice mosaic. I don’t remember what grade I was in or who taught the class but I remember the rice was colored with food coloring and the mosaic I made was of a chicken or rooster (not sure). I aligned the rice perfectly and covered it with glue. It was smooth, it was fascinating to me and I hung onto the art for years and years. I don’t remember anyone telling me it was good, but I knew it was special.
Sometime between elementary and middle school I somehow acquired a paint-by-number set and worked very hard to finish the two paintings of dogs. Why this experience was significant to me is that for the first time I realized that from a distance, colors laid next to each other appear blended, they didn’t have to be blended before applying. I was excited that I finished them on my own, in my own time and just because I wanted to.
In middle school I remember my art teacher, she had long auburn hair and she taught us about drawing faces. How to measure them and how our eyes are not at the top of our face but in the middle. I was again fascinated and I drew and drew and drew faces. My face drawings improved, I liked them and I knew they were good.
Then in high school I remember one art teacher who was a little eccentric but I liked him; that year we were introduced to ceramics (clay). I made a small sculpture of a foot from clay and a rose relief (although I didn’t know then what it was called). They were good, I again don’t remember anyone telling me they were but I knew. I hung onto those for a long time also but eventually they chipped and I threw them away.
I realize today that I don’t recall anyone specific telling me my art was good but I somehow knew it was, and as an adult I still know it was very good.
I knew something all along, deep inside of me.