Artist

sitting on the shore of the pond and
drawing in my notebook, an older
woman looking over my shoulder:
"Could you draw as a child?"
"Yes."
I could copy good enough--lacked
confidence, initiative, knowledge, for
plein air work.
"Did you take art lessons?"
"Um...yeah."
Tuesday nights in the basement of the
public library. Sat on a metal chair before
a still-life, set-up by the instructor. Clueless
how to approach such a thing. "Sketch it!"
the instructor, who wore a beret and five o'clock
shadow, said.
He spend most of the class in the back
of the room, flirting with High-School-aged girls,
including my sister, who could not draw
worth a damn.