My late Dad, a great artist in his own right -and who taught me to wield a paintbrush before I could hold a pencil- always told me that without angst, the artist could not create. Without angst and a reason to bemoan, we would all be well off, middle class, boring, fashion conscious, media guzzling, consumeristic, uncaring dullards with nothing to complain about at parties.
He was right.
4 comments:
Your Dad sounds like a cool guy. There is nothing more cerebral than picking up a paintbrush and dipping it into a colorful palette trying to recreate the beauty which surrounds us.
Then there's me. I like to paint, but I also like to wear tattered jeans, shovel horse pucky, and commune with all that is natural.
Pam,
I'm with you on the tattered jeans and getting all communal with nature, but I think I have to draw the line shovelling horse pucky, I'm too much of a city girl!
This reminds me of the song “You Can’t Play the Blues in an Air-conditioned Room.” Your dad was a wise man.
Randy Johnson,
Thanks for stopping by, I do enjoy reading your blog, keep up the good work.
And yes, my Dad was a special guy. Not perfect by any means, but he made a lasting impression on me. He's smiling right now as I say that ;)
Post a Comment