It took me decades to realize this, but now I know why I paint produce.
My father’s father enlisted in World War II out of a sense of honor, duty, and patriotism. With a wife and child, he was exempt from service; but even though he was well beyond age limits, the Army needed him, and welcomed him. He became a cook, and served the front lines in Germany.
After the war, he had a long career as a grocery store produce manager. My grandfather was a gentle man, and as a small child, I loved following him around the produce department and the chilly back room, eagerly absorbing everything he could teach me. His pride and joy was the fig tree in his own back yard. Let me tell you, there is nothing like eating a sun-warmed ripe Texas fig that you have just picked from the tree.
As to why I paint at all, the reasons are many. My mother, blessed with creativity and many talents, is an educator. She hand-drew, in sketchbooks, the “early reading” picture books that helped me learn to read (and also to learn the names of my cousins, aunts, and uncles) when I was two. She has made only a few oil paintings, and would be the last person to point them out to anyone as her own, but they are beautiful.
My father’s father, the Army cook and produce manager, consistently championed my own early aptitude—to the point of having me draw the deer that was the “entrance exam” for the Famous Artists’ School (Norman Rockwell was among their instructors) when I was six or so. Had I gotten the nod, he’d gladly have paid my tuition! However, instead of admitting me, they wrote him a letter: “Why are you submitting a child’s work as your own?” A fond memory indeed.
My father’s mother, a high school history teacher, also painted. As soon as I was old enough to be in her studio safely, at four or so, she gave me the run of the place. The smells of linseed oil and triple-rectified turpentine were intoxicating, and the colors in her paintbox seemed like jewels. I spent many a happy hour sitting on her studio floor, piling through her art magazines and Walter Foster books. I still have some of the latter—they are treasures.
Painting—especially, painting produce—is my way of showing my gratitude and respect. I love produce. No two curled-up cayenne peppers are the same. Each and every vegetable or fruit is a unique creation, and there will never be another like it. Kinda like humans.
Putting together a painting is a real pleasure. I love adding in childhood treasures, small things I’ve collected over the years, cherished gifts from my own children. Paintings are an expression of love, and I put my heart into every one of mine.
