Dan’s mom emailed us a picture of a 24 x 36 drawing Dan gave her many years ago. He drew it when he was 15 years old and won five awards for it. The picture is 28 years old now.
He’s spoken about his fine art days. His eyes reflect joy as he relays the details of drawing for hours. Going through cases of pencils and reams of paper in a single semester, he tells me he was a pencil and paper snob.
I have never seen anything from that time. He doesn't own any of it. Well, I take that back. Once, I glimpsed a copy of an Einstein drawing his folks have. Another award winner. I have seen his doodles.
I just sat and stared at the drawing. Amazed that this came from a 15 year old who is now my husband. I drank up the American Indian, the eyes specifically. So life like. Spirit is reflected is those eyes. I like how the lines of time roll across the face.
After 16 years together, I saw a part of Dan for the first time. I was stunned. Surprised. How could I not know? How could this not have flourished? A person has a gift like that, people know about it. Right?
I wonder why his art wasn’t supported. It makes me sad. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. A bright burst of brilliant flame. A lingering flair. Forever extinguished by a teardrop.
