My own dad is no longer with us, but it seemed like a good day to say that this is where I got my earliest artistic inspiration. I can’t remember when Dad, a graphic artist by trade, wasn’t making something–paintings, drawings, doodles and cartoons, woodcuts, carvings, clothes for my troll dolls (my sister and I were the only kids on the block whose trolls had not only shaggy caveman outfits, but stovepipe hats and a full set of priest’s regalia), baskets (from wooden splints he’d shaved), biscuits and braided loaves of bread. Or encouraging us to make something and being proud of whatever we produced.
Here’s dad, with me, c. 1957:
You there–get up from your computer and go make something with your (or someone else’s) kid. You never know where it will lead.