Art with Ms. Daisy

      It was my seventh grade year, and Ms. Daisy Denny was hired to teach art on Wednesday during seventh period at the school I attended. I’m  sure her presence was by means of a grant, for the  small county high school had few frills, certainly not a serious art department. My instruction began with being told to rummage through a box of magazine clippings, cards, calendars, and old photos containing an assortment of pictures. After chosing one to my liking, I was handed some chalk and told to draw the picture before me. That was the extent of my instruction. Mrs. Denny bragged on my masterpiece, and I believed her. I was hooked. Every Wednesday during seventh period, my seventh grade world fell away and I was introduced to a new realm—that of art. I was allowed to “do my thing,” to roam freely from photo to photo. Very little instruction was offered, only encouragement, but I have no criticism of  Ms. Denny’s methodology, for I enjoyed trying. It was playtime. Weeks passed and eventually, the day arrived.—— The box was approximately 5x10 and sported a faux leather look. Inside were 10 tiny tubes of Grumbacher oil paint, three brushes, 4 oz bottles of turpentine and linseed oil. Worthy of royalty to my mind, the set marked the beginning of my love affair with painting. Since that day, there has been the steady march of life events: high school, dating, marriage, family, career, sadness, joy, sucesses, and failures. Yet the one constant was the yearning to paint, almost an ache to apply paint to the canvas and express the emotion that was mine. Wherever I lived, I tried to make space and time to satisfy that gnawing, whether it was the kitchen table draped with drop cloth, a dimly lit corner of crowded garage, or the stifling heat of a utility shed in the back yard. Time has witnessed an improvement in my studio environment and instruction. However, I will always be grateful for encouragement from a long line of people who saw promise behind my feeble, infantile efforts. …so many;  I will not attempt to list for fear I’ll omit one. Mrs. Daisy Denny, however, managed to lite the initial flame by allowing me to flounder and what a glorious gift that liberty was. Mrs. Denny passed away years ago, but I was told her last years were spent in a nursing facility where she continued to paint. I like to think she is painting even now. im thinking she has the Lord rummaging through her box of pictures…

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