Had my father lived another six years, he would have turned 99 today.
Since this blog is mainly about art, I'll take this opportunity to reminisce a bit about how my father taught me about art. Although he and my mother were both only one generation from pretty damn poor and uneducated, out of the blue they both developed a love of art that was quite unexpected in the dark days of the depression. Dad began to acquire art as a very young man and was quite proud of his growing collection. Indeed, buying art was one of the most important activities of his life, a passion he instilled in his children as well.
All three of these paintings now hang in my home and whenever I see them -- wherever I turn -- I am reminded of how my father opened my eyes and my world to art. A favorite family activity was to hit an art fair (the Cheap Art Fair was the best of all) and buy a bunch of new stuff. We shopped at the low end of the food chain but managed to find plenty of lovely things. The occasional dud didn't cause all that much financial regret, and probably made some artist quite happy.
After my parents died, my sibs and I divvied up the artwork, a process that began long before our parents' demise, has taken years to accomplish and still isn't complete. Just last week some sculptures that belong to our brother in Australia moved from my sister's house to mine; we hope that someday they'll make their way across the ocean to their rightful home. I'm now trying to pass some of the art along to succeeding generations, continuing Dad's legacy, passing down both the tangible and the ineffable.