Read my comment Date: September 18, 2020Author: maestrogregorysinger Category: drawing Tags: drawing, Gregory Singer, Gregory Singer Art Post navigation ← Special frame! Guess who → ‘Read my comment’ by Gregory Singer Share this:TwitterFacebookLike this:Like Loading...
When I was a baby of about two years old, there was the original (poster) of this, (my copy here above) hanging on the wall near my crib.
I would stare at the art that hung near my crib for hours. There isn’t much a baby can do for amusement without language skills, and being about the size of a bag of flour, with no motor coordination etc. My amusement and fun was to stare at the art work. This particular painting mesmerized me. I actually thought that the picture was of my mother looking around the corner of a wall (from the hallway) into my room to check on my well being. You see, my mother had curly hair, and I thought the curly (ornate) object at the top right of the picture was my mother looking at me. Only years later do I realize that object was not my mother, but must simply be an old-fashioned door knob. I noticed the original of this picture (by a great french master) was seen in the beginning of the Burt Lancaster movie called ‘The Train’. In the movie, many works of stolen art were being loaded into a Nazi train destined for Germany. In the opening scenes I see that particular picture being moved for packing. Does anyone know the artist who painted the original?
An extraordinary picture and tale to go with it…Does you memory go back to the crib?
Yes, I remember one night, my parents were playing violin and piano sonatas in a nearby room, and I was alone in my crib listening to them.
The music was so beautiful, after listening for a while, I began to whimper. My parents continued playing the music. Eventually my unheard whimpers escalated into loud crying. When there was a break in the music, or perhaps a quiet passage in the composition (Most likely Faure or Brahms) they suddenly heard my crying and practically tripped and collided with each other rushing to get through the door to see what on earth had happened to upset me so.They must have thought i was hurt somehow. I was one or two years old. I couldn’t speak and certainly couldn’t express that I had been overcome by the beauty of their music making, and my happiness of feeling the love they had for each other playing music together. Perhaps I somehow wanted to be part of it. I most likely
simply wanted their attention. I got it. I remember that incident clearly.
Amazing you can remember back that far.
I can also, remember, I was in my crib, about 1 0r 2 years old.
I was bored and there was a pure white wall staring at me, and I did not know
where my parents were so I had to amuse myself.
I took a big doody pile of poo, and then I proceeded to “paint” the wall in these beautiful
warm browns and against the White backdrop where I created my first great work of art.
It was a mountain scene with landscape …
As, my mother was an artist also, she was very amused by my first ” Picasso”, Painted with love
and my own Poo ! My father use to love telling this story at family gatherings.