I started drawing before I could read and write.  I remember drawing before I started kindergarten.  Over the years, I developed my own drawing style, just by doing it a lot.  I poo pooed it, because it came easily to me.  It was just natural to put a crayon or a pen to paper.  As a child and teenager, could draw a crowd of onlookers.  I gave the drawings away.  I didn’t value them.  I still draw a lot.  I fill sketchbooks with scribbles, and that’s been the end of it.  Today I took a couple of these books to my painting group, and was kind of amazed by the reaction of my friends.  I don’t say this to brag, but it gave me a new insight into the drawings.  I’m beginning to see that they have value, and that it’s an untapped body of work that, like my paintings, flows from my brain, down my arm, through my fingers and the moving pen, to lay on the page, visible to anyone who happens to see it.

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