I suppose most of you were given testing to help you choose what career would be best for you. I was most intrigued with the interest test. This was a multiple choice test that consisted of questions like, “Which do you prefer, creamy peanut butter or chunky peanut butter?”. My results showed I’d be interested in being a musician, or a writer, or an artist, or a Merchant Marine officer. I would have thought the Merchant Marines would be a chunky peanut butter crowd, and I’m creamy, all the way. Oh, well.

I enrolled in art school. My Dad helped me move from my smallish town to the big city of Minneapolis. He helped me carry borrowed furniture to the third floor of the condemned building in which I’d found lodging. Before he left me there, he gave me this advice, “The alley entrance probably isn’t safe at night. Use the front stairway, in the first floor porn shop”. Ah, a father’s protective instincts. So heart-warming.

I lasted there about two weeks before my uncle visited, took one look around, and said, “Start packing. I’ll be back in 20 minutes with a truck”. I lived with him, my aunt and my cousins the rest of the semester, but the damage had already been done. I’d met too many unsavory characters, and felt threatened too often. I still had to hike through bad neighborhoods to get to school, while loaded down with art and supplies. Kind of hard to run or hide when you’re an art mule. I wanted to go home, so I dropped out of art school at winter break.

Here’s an unfinished painting from my brief sojourn in art school. I call it “Still Life With Hats” or “Making Me a Target in the Hood”.

Making Me a Target...

Still Life With Hats

Stay tuned…

p.s. I posted this on chiconashoestringdecorating