Sometime between the ages of 7 and 9 years old I was in the living room of the family home seated on the sofa. In my lap was a book of drawing paper empty and waiting to be filled. By my side I had an assortment of about 10 different coloured felt tip pens. One was in my hand. Lacking inspiration I had surveyed the room for about 10 minutes before finally deciding on a single red rose in a vase on or near the TV. Thinking back it was possibly fake. I doodled away filling the page with vibrant colour and then finally bringing sharpness to the scene with the black pen. My little masterpiece. I remember it like it was yesterday. Then I pulled out the page and gave it to my gran who had brought both paper and pens as a gift on one of her many frequent visits. In the weeks to follow I would fill all the pages requiring more pens but for the life of me I cannot remember any other than that first drawing.
Both my grandparents and parents thought I was talented. They proclaimed I was very artistic and for years I bought into that. The truth is that I was good at copying. Left in an empty room I was starved. I needed to see with my own eyes as my mind never brought forth anything so vivid.
About 2-3 years ago I started a little pet project for the family. My gran had a lot of photographs which my parents kept after she died. It was my intention to scan them all and put them on DVD for everyone. Furthermore I would create additional playable DVDs setting the photographs to music. For 3 days after my parents dropped off the photographs to me I scanned them individually in what fast became a monotonous task. There were 4 black bin liners filled and even being selective I had a job on my hands. What pushed me on though was the fact that quite a few were fading and one day would be gone for ever were they not imprinted into the digital format.
Also among the photographs were a few things belonging to my gran and among them was a prayer book. Being the nosey sod that I am I opened it up and inside was a folded piece of paper. Without having to open it I could see what it was- a red rose. My gran had kept it all that time. It made me smile to know that she had it with her all her days. I'd imagine as a victim of cancer the prayer book was much looked at in the end and a red rose was always there maybe reminding her of better days. I put it back in the prayer book and there, to my knowledge, it remains.
Both my grandparents and parents thought I was talented. They proclaimed I was very artistic and for years I bought into that. The truth is that I was good at copying. Left in an empty room I was starved. I needed to see with my own eyes as my mind never brought forth anything so vivid.
About 2-3 years ago I started a little pet project for the family. My gran had a lot of photographs which my parents kept after she died. It was my intention to scan them all and put them on DVD for everyone. Furthermore I would create additional playable DVDs setting the photographs to music. For 3 days after my parents dropped off the photographs to me I scanned them individually in what fast became a monotonous task. There were 4 black bin liners filled and even being selective I had a job on my hands. What pushed me on though was the fact that quite a few were fading and one day would be gone for ever were they not imprinted into the digital format.
Also among the photographs were a few things belonging to my gran and among them was a prayer book. Being the nosey sod that I am I opened it up and inside was a folded piece of paper. Without having to open it I could see what it was- a red rose. My gran had kept it all that time. It made me smile to know that she had it with her all her days. I'd imagine as a victim of cancer the prayer book was much looked at in the end and a red rose was always there maybe reminding her of better days. I put it back in the prayer book and there, to my knowledge, it remains.
