I was setting at my table, before me was a blank page. Mom and Dad just bought me a pad of art paper because my scratches on notebook paper look promising. I had colored pens, watercolors and pencils and I couldn't think what to draw. My cousins on the other hand were prolific. Their Dad brought them an end of a roll of butcher paper. They would roll it down the hallway and proceed to draw army scenes with fields of commandos and infantry, tank battles and airplane dog fights and trucks because the highway went past their house.

We moved away, my pages still blank. I would visit my cousins, always catching them in their rooms drawing. They went on to school, became professional artist for a greeting card company. Me, I did all the things other kids were doing, playing in the streets. Saturdays were great, we watched cartoons all day starting in the morning. I would get up early in anticipation to watch a new home show. I started sketching the homes I saw. My pages were no longer blank.

Well down the road you got to make a living. The back shelf gets loaded with stuff you put off because you got to do what you got to do. I still dabbled. In the scraps of paper piled on the table I dabbled. I carried a notebook everywhere I went. I filled them. They would get destroyed by floods. I would recreate them. They would get old, falling apart, I would redo them. The ideas were just an ongoing mental note that evolved each time I redrew them. New information, a little more life experience, endless sittings in waiting rooms. You learn to pick up where you left off and quickly jot an idea down. I dreamed, drew dreams, designed dreams, shelved dreams.

I was an electrical drafter, no glamor there, not like an architect or furniture designer. Then computer aided drafting came into play. It was there the second wave began like when I started drawing houses. I took my little pen drawing and scanned it into the computer. Then I plotted it out big on the company plotter. There was such a mad scientist laugh that erupted from my being. I was glad the plotter was in a sound-proof glass enclosed air-conditioned room. I still have the prints on vellum made 14-15 years ago. I still laugh the same way every-time I unfold them.

Today I make art and fold my experience and skills into it. Unconventional, yes. I doesn't seem to matter to the "art gene" what tools or skills or media/materials are present. I dabble and art is produced. I laugh as I am not a sophisticated and learned artist, a graphic primitive.

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