As a kid, I really loved to draw. My parents knew it and my mother signed me up for art lessons with well known artist Maleta Forsberg, who lived down the street. After about a year of lessons my folks bought me a spiffy drafting table—you know—like an architect uses, with the adjustable-angle top. This table was placed in my bedroom. My bedroom became my first studio, and I took off with it. I used the table, constantly creating paintings, pen and ink drawings, charcoal sketches, and so on. This table, and this bedroom studio space, gave me a place that was my own, and I created a world within it at age 8. It gave me license to be an artist. Later we moved and my studio—with that table—ended up in the basement. On it, I designed Robinson Junior High newspaper covers and a handbill cover for Community Theater’s rendition of Auntie Mame. I used the same table to create as I went through East High School.
I would wager that my parents spent no more than $60 on that table, but it took me away from the kitchen table and gave me a whole world that was of my own creation. It’s a world I still live and work in today. The art I’ve created has paid for kid’s braces, cars, and many house payments. It has put food in our bellies. And it really started with my parents recognizing my interest in art and buying that table for me in 1967.
A parent, grandparent, guardian, or friend can simply pay a little attention to a kid’s interests, lend a little help, and send that kid off on a life-long adventure. When I joined the Marines after high school, my table was lost when my parents moved, probably in a pre-move garage sale. Nevertheless, that table was the gift of a lifetime.
