spiritof76

That white place right next to the water, near the center of the picture, that was home for the first five years of my life. There was a dormer added on later, and that's a big part of my childhood memories, sitting up there perched in that dormer, watching the boats and the seasons come and go there on the cove. Right in behind that, in behind the white church, is where my I spent my teenage years. You can't see it in this photo, but there's a downstairs ground floor apartment, more precisely.


spiritof76

Even though this photograph is from 1976, I first picked up a paint brush and real artist's paints in high school in 1974. Before that time and all through grade shcool the school district didn't really have a whole lot on the ball as far as an art program went. Anyway, 1974 was where I was introduced to the real thing, as in real artist's acrylic paints and oils. Watercolors were alright, and acrylic paint was alright, but it was the oils that "got me", that fascinated me far and above. Oil painting was exotic as far as I was concerned, it was the stuff you read about in those books in the library about da Vinci and Rembrandt and Michelangelo and those guys; Van Gogh, and of course the brilliant illustrations by painter N. C. Wyeth in those books we loved to read, and who made a summer home at "Eight Bells" about a mile or so from the heart of Port Clyde where I grew up.