As an artist, you always tend to draw others so that they look a bit like you. I mean you are most familiar with your own features. It is really a bit of laziness. You can’t notice everything in a short period of time, so you end up transcribing your own shapes instead of theirs. However, when you are drawing someone who actually looks like you, it gets a little spooky.

As my progress brings me closer to Phoenix, the excitement to see old friends and dear family members mounts. On Christmas day, I mentioned to my dad that I’ve never really drawn him. The reference photo for this drawing was taken about 2 years ago, but when I started drawing I had the weirdest sensation of drawing him 2, 10, and 20 years ago. Recalling memories and experiences as I drew, the age of my father changed under my hand. It was as if I was sculpting his face rather than drawing it. As I pushed the corners of his smile up, I smiled too.

Last Christmas I drew my mother, and in drawing both of my parents, I was able to see them with my artist eyes rather than that of a son. As an artist you really look and as such, I was able to observe them in ways I never had as a son. Perhaps I got to see them as other do, but as drew them I got to love them. Each pencil stroke down a cheek is a caress, drawing their hair was as if I was brushing it for them. Making the drawn representation of my father smile was as if I was making him smile. Drawing her happy was as if I was making her happy.

Being an artist is the most rewarding venture. I get to experience life, things, and people as no one else does. Everyone else just sees a forest…as an artist, you see every leaf, twig, branch, tree, and root. Without a doubt, and artist’s life is more rich. With gratitude and humility, I endeavor to show you all the beauty I see about me.

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