Drawing—Early Memory

I was barely four, and my mother was making Christmas cards—India ink line drawing of glass ornaments—one broken one. I watched transfixed as an ordinary black line on cream paper transformed into something magical, something I already recognized, a broken Christmas ornament. When she added the yellow mirroring inside, the globe shape came alive. It was magic. I was drooling on the table. And on the cards too apparently, because the spell was broken when she pushed me away and told me to stop drooling on them. Then and there, I fell in love with the power of contour line. I said I was going to be an artist too when I grew up. And so it happened. I haven't stopped drawing since.