I know it was second grade because I remember the classroom. And I know what teacher was involved because I never forgot her or the moment I’m about to highlight.
The year was 1974. I don’t have many memories from that stage of my life, but the following was poignant enough to have possibly set my life’s course.
We had been assigned an art project, and I chose to paint a clown holding a mouse. I don’t know why I opted for that peculiar scene, but it was something I apparently wished to convey.
The clown I painted was detailed and colorful, while the makeup of the body parts suggested a clear understanding of proportionality. The figure stood upright, staring at the viewer with a well-crafted façade and appropriate jester-like attire. In his hand, held up and to his side, sat a mouse. Both looked equally pleased at being featured.
My memory is twofold: The first part involves me scanning the classroom wall, where all the art projects were hanging, and determining that my painting seemed to exhibit a level of complexity beyond that of my peers. I don’t believe my revelation suggested an inflated ego, but rather, it seemed to be a questioning of why so many of the other paintings appeared dismal.
The second memory associated with this painting involved my teacher, with whom I always felt a strong connection. She was young (likely in her 30s at the time) with a pleasant demeanor and smile. She was helping me roll my painting up for transport home, and as she wrapped it with a rubber band, she looked at me and stated pointedly, “This is really good.”
Statements like those can be a dime a dozen for a kid, but something about the tonality of her voice and the way she locked eyes with me suggested a conveyance of something important. I went home and hung the painting proudly on my bedroom wall, where it stayed until I decided NBA posters were more compelling.
I never forgot how sincere my teacher seemed at that moment. My level of skill had probably primed me, but the encouraging words from an authoritative figure reinforced the belief that art was something I was good at.
As time passed, my relationship with art wavered between indifference and obsession. When the mood struck, I would spend months filling notebooks with sketches. But just as quickly, my interest might turn towards Little League baseball and an infatuation with becoming a better fielder.
In high school, my artistic talent emerged from time to time, but it wasn’t something I focused on. I knew without much effort that any art class I took was going to result in an “A,” so I always included them in my curriculum.
It wasn’t until I got to college, where I had copious free time, that my proclivity for drawing really took hold. Eventually, my cartoons found their way to other students, which ultimately led to me becoming the cartoonist for the class yearbook. The recognition I gained from that small assignment, along with a single-panel cartoon that appeared in the school paper, had me giving second thoughts to my career aspirations.
I had never considered art or any of the aligning disciplines as the trajectory of my young life. I had gone to school looking for a baseline of skills for use in the business world. I was not considering a career as a starving artist.
The last conversation I had with my father before his unexpected death centered on my regret of not going to art school. I had finally realized where my strengths were and was disappointed for not taking advantage of them. I was bewildered when he replied, “It’s never too late.”
I never attended art school, but by leaning into my artist talents at every post-graduation opportunity, eventually it directed my entire career.
This week’s feature, “Art for Everybody,” features an artist who not only recognized his talent for painting but employed it to create a multi-million dollar empire.
Thomas Kinkade, known as “The Painter of Light,” took his knack for creating idyllic landscapes of cottages, cabins, and other rural settings and parlayed it into a mass marketing juggernaut that saw him opening galleries around the world. But even with all his commercial success, his demons got the better of him.
I was always enamored with Thomas Kinkade, partially for his unique painting style and partially through his business savvy. But I never realized just how complicated a man he was.
If you’re looking for a great documentary featuring a wildly interesting story, definitely give this one a try. Unfortunately, this one’s on limited release, so you’re going to have to dig around the internet to find a platform that’s streaming it.
An imaginative “B+” for “Art for Everybody.”
Got a question or comment for Dom? You can email him at [email protected].
