Time and Place

This past week, on Thursday, I drew with my art teacher from Brevard (who now teaches at High Point) 's class. 30 years ago I was nearing the end of my freshman year at Brevard. I had drawn the cover of the year book and furnished it with distinctive illustrations. I was making the transition from high school oddity to college artist. That is, I was beginning to discover who I am as an artist and what that means for me and how I would live my life. I'm hoping for at least 30 if not 40 more years to practice art and to keep discovering what that means. If I wanted to match my uncle Frank's age, 98, I'd need 50 more years, but that seems like a lagniappe that's up to God to give. Actually 47 years has not been enough. In my 20s and 30s I struggled with depression, but now, thanks to cognitive therapy, a bit of maturity, and marriage to a wonderful woman, my days are mostly happy. The triggers that used to send me off into a vale of melancholy, where all seemed lost against the ultimacy of the universe, are more easily endured today.
So there I was, talking with Cherl about art, New York, the art business, and art students. I thought, how odd is the passage of time. In thirty years I've gotten to this point where I live in Durham and am ordained and have opportunities in art to explore. And I had a wonderful three hours drawing and water coloring. There's nothing like making art for me.
What have I learned in 30 years? How have I grown?