For many Saturday mornings from the ages of 8 to 16,
while my peers were playing basketball or softball,
I was going to Godlyn Serigny's home for art lessons.
I was not going to be allowed to do physical sports because of
the cancer deal and by the age of 8, three years after the diagnosis,
I was still hanging around and because my Dad was an artist
in his own right, he found Ms. Godlyn to teach me her fine craft.
Every Saturday I would be dropped off in this older home that
always smelled like linseed and old art books and be
taught the fine art of oil painting, sketching and seeing a project
to its finish. I was shown how important taking care of a paint brush was,
light sources and shading, how to make a very simple shaped sketch
into a painting, how to mix the basic colors into every other color I may need.
I was also taught how to talk to adults, how to compliment other
students art work and to take a compliment on my work as just that a compliment.
My parents must have understood that there I would learn aspects
of being a confident human being that I would not be fortunate to get playing sports.
So for 8 years, most Saturdays, my Daddy would bring me and pick me up
three hours later knowing that it would be weeks before i would complete
one painting that they put their hard earned money into.
When I needed a new brush or tube of paint, Daddy would just
drive to the only place on the bayou that sold these things and buy it.
Then I became a teen and it was not something I wanted to do anymore.
Although I always played around with art in some way, I thought little
of the time spent here.
I had my family, raised my children and we did some crafts and things
but I truly believed I had forgotten all the lessons I had learned in Ms. Godlyn's living room.
Then came the day when I said a Momma rosary to give me guidance
on what I should do with this craft business I called Mumsie's Cottage.
I was making a few dollars here and there but knew I could do more.
The next morning, I woke up to think of painting Rhett's home on ceramic tile
and old newspaper.
Three and a half years later and I have not stopped painting home portraits.
Sometimes I would be surprised at just how naturally I could look at a color
and know how to mix it. Depth perception seems to come to me without thought
and light source I didn't even think of.
Each time I bought a new brush I lovingly cleaned it after every stroke of a color.
Yesterday as I was straightening up my kitchen I glanced up at this painting,
the only one I have from those eight years of art lessons,
done when I was twelve years old.
As I really looked at it, memories of all those Saturday's came back to me.
How hard it was to be taught where each light had to shine on a piece.
How the colors had to flow to make something look round.
That table?? was painstaking for me as Ms. Godlyn had me do it over and over
until she felt it was good enough.
I am sure there are some of her own strokes in this painting as she
probably got frustrated trying to tell me how to blend and just took my paint
brush and showed me how to do it.
I realized right then, that I did not forget anything she taught me.
I just stored it somewhere in the amazing brain each of us was given.
When the color mixing comes to me without thought, it is her memory that
put it there, Ms. Goldlyn Serigny.
So salute to all the teachers we have had in our lives.
I always believed I got most of my confidence from my Daddy who
told me as a young child who was bullied,
"Lil when you come through this kitchen door, it does not matter what
the world thinks of you, because here you are loved"
However, yesterday, while studying this masterpiece, I realized
that being confident is not the same as being conceited,
that being proud is not the same as bragging.
That those lessons were not just taught to me from a strong family
but also those who believed they were just giving painting lessons.
