My father is a very talented watercolor painter. He was a painter when he met my mother, but didn't think he could raise a family on what he made. So he joined the military, and sublimated his artistic side for 30 years. When he retired, he attended the Art Institute of Boston. I was about 12 at the time. He used to bring home any assignment that wasn't life drawing or painting, and ask me to do it for him. He was only interested in those two classes, but others were required for his certificate. So I did the work for him, and he'd come home and say "Hey Babe, you got a 'B' on this or an 'A' on that." It was fun.
I never did get his painting chops, though I spent summer days in the garage, painting over his failed oils with my acrylic paint set. How I loved going to the art supply store on Saturdays with him! I still get weak in the knees over color, and love art, but his drawing and painting talent escaped me.
My daughter however, I think might have his talent. Here is one of her paintings, done in 9th grade art. I am proud and jealous of this ability.
