My first, remembered, experience with art happened soon after I started the first grade. Mrs. Lumpkin passed out mimeographed pictures of a Great Horned owl. She told us to color it with our Crayola crayons. As I reached into my desk for the box of eight, tiny candle sticks with no wicks, I knew something wonderful was about to happen.

In the summer, we would often sleep beneath a large Live oak tree with the stars for a nightlight. We would fall asleep to the nocturnal sounds of coyotes, crickets, katydids, frogs and the wind in the trees. Part of that music was the sound of the Great Horned owls. I still treasure hearing its call today.

My daddy spoke their language. Whatever he said always brought an owl to the very tree we were beneath. My sister and I would quietly wait for the great bird to come. Its wing span was an awesome sight in the star filled sky. It was frightful sometimes for my baby sister, but I was never afraid when Daddy was with us.

Because of those nights, I knew exactly how that majestic owl looked. The brown Crayola was the perfect shade. I can remember the smell of that paper, and how it felt to watch the bird being transformed. I colored the eyes yellow. Only two crayons were used that day, but I remember holding the others in my hand and admiring them.

As I sat appreciating my work of art, Mrs. Lumpkin was walking beside her students and admiring their efforts. She stopped beside me, held up my paper and slowly turned as she showed it to the entire class. “This is the ugliest picture I have ever seen,” she said.

I never shall forget the look of shock on my classmate’s faces sitting around me. I saw pity, some fear, but no one laughed. I watched her hand placing the picture back onto my desk, as she moved away. I had never colored with crayons in my short life. I knew nothing about staying inside the lines, but I knew a masterpiece when I saw one.

I wondered at her rudeness and why she disliked me. That is exactly what I saw in her eyes, but she and her blunt opinion meant nothing to me. Before me was one of the most beautiful pictures that I had ever seen. My daddy agreed with me. He also taught me to color within the lines.

That experience has guided me my entire life. Artistic expression cannot be judged objectively, as “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Today, my art consists of writing, photography, and crocheting, but holding that amazing pen of colored wax still thrills me.

Dear Reader, I will leave you with this quote by Sylvia Plath, “The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”