Why I Paint Part 1
People often ask me several questions: “How long have you been painting?” “I can’t paint—how did you start?” And the classic, “How long did it take you to paint this?”
The last question is the easiest to answer: it took me all my life.
That response usually stuns people, but it’s true. Everything I’ve learned in life contributes to the work I create today.
Like most kids, I started drawing when I was young. I fell in love with it and drew constantly, except when I was playing basketball or football. My mother was an artist and creator, and she motivated me to explore my creativity. My brother was an artist too, eventually becoming a well-known architect. With role models like that, I didn’t need much convincing to pick up a pencil or brush.
I took my first art classes at the old city hall in Greenville, SC, where I learned the basics. But even then, I wasn’t interested in fine details—I didn’t have the patience. Instead, I was captivated by color. That love for color still defines my work today.
Life, however, wasn’t easy. Painting was considered a hobby, not a serious profession, and I was encouraged to pursue other paths. Looking back, I say this to anyone with a creative dream: Don’t let people discourage you.
In high school, my art teacher once looked at my work—a simplified drawing with colors spilling outside the lines—and said, “I guess you could call that art.” She gave me a C for the assignment but ended the semester with an A. Confusing? Yes. Unexplained? Absolutely.
In college, I needed to raise my GPA, so I took some art classes. In one of my first assignments, I was painstakingly working on a detailed piece when my professor walked up behind me. He asked, “What are you doing?” Without waiting for an answer, he took my brush and started slapping paint and making squiggles on my work. I stared at him, stunned. Then I smiled and said, “I can do that.” From that point on, I embraced a looser, more expressive style and earned A’s throughout college.
Later, I had deep conversations with God about what to do next in life. That’s an amazing story for another day, but here’s what I’ll leave you with: Don’t be afraid to put ink or paint to paper. Just do it. Don’t worry about what people think, and don’t let criticism—or praise—define your worth as an artist.
Trust your journey, and don’t hold back.
City Hall, where I first learned to draw and paint, 1955 - 1957. The class was in the room where the red arrow points. My teacher was understanding and worked closely with me to choose and discuss the colors and composition. She seemed to know me better than I knew myself.
Early high school painting on plywood. “The Kingfisher”