And while my cigarette toting, beer guzzling, fishing father was my hero as a small child, it changed when the world's superficial context consumed me as a pre-teen. He was a blue collar worker, and I suppose the polo images frolicking on classmates' shirts made me wonder why my father didn't make enough to afford me that small luxury.
My bitterness towards Dad stuck through the years, until just recently when I took up art school and understood that my talent came from him.
You see my father was a painter, but he didn't pursue it. And perhaps my bitterness was just my unconscious lashing out at my father because he didn't put a brush or pencil in my hand to encourage me to make art.
So, be kinder to your parents. Teenagers are assholes, so this isn't really meant for them. But, when you come of age, perhaps it's time to let go of those small (quite possibly bad) choices made by your parents. And own it. It's your life really. Not theirs.
I have this painting hanging in my studio to remind me of where I came from: Joseph Hubert (sounds like a great artist's name, right?). It's curious that his painting has very similar unintentional coloring to one of my collages that features a photograph of my father. It's also quite a coincidence that I'm a bull. My birthday is on Wednesday. Thanks Dad.
No comments:
Post a Comment