Regardless where we drove growing up in New Orleans we drove by a cemetery with the grand marble and stone figures.
I never thought much about growing up in a pink house in New Orleans. My mom had a great sense of color and style so as a child I never questioned her choices. Everything always looked nice to me.
It still looks nice to me.
One day a friend rode up on his bicycle and said, “You live in a pink house.”
It was as if I had never noticed.
Since that day in 1975, when I was an impressionable teen-ager, I have noticed the color of houses. Now I am an artist so that should come with the territory, but Jimmy’s comment started the process.
I have been out of touch with the world for a few weeks. Leave it to say a loved one needed some special time. This was a time out of my studio, so I started, again, to work on my children’s book.
It begins with a sentence about the main character living in my pink house.
I am once again in the studio so hope to make some progress on this book. I have read it to children over the years and always had a positive response. It is time for me to be my character’s champion and get him out of the drawer and into the world.
Pink house and all.