it was the summer before 8th grade. i was 13 years old. my parents, god bless them, let me do whatever i wanted to my room – as far as paint goes.
i painted a gigantic tree on one door. i painted the floors, the closet. and i painted my ceiling – clouds. i still remember my mom coming up the stairs and saying, “hey, jan how’s it going?” my response ” mom, see that cloud outside – that’s this one right here.” i think i thought i was michelangelo or something. regardless – this was the start of something.
my room was my canvas growing up and i cherished it – spent hours with the music blasting and paint bucket in hand. and i didn’t just paint in the confines of my room – i also painted anything i could get my hands on.
i grew up in a victorian house on main street in NH that had a lovely (useless) barn attached to it. we had a lot of random things in that barn and old furniture was one of them. i used to go into the barn, find some interesting piece of furniture, and then paint the heck out of it. i did this so often that my dad finally banned me from the barn – i guess he wanted to keep some of the furniture in it’s original state…and though i love me some nice painted furniture i don’t blame him one bit.
so thanks parents. you fostered my creativity since day one and i couldn’t be more thankful for your support in the arts. photo credit goes to my mom – who lied down on the floor last week to take pictures of the ceiling for me. it’s still there. (p.s. check out that light fixture…circa 1920’s, maybe?)