Masthead header

Did you always know you were an artist?

 NO! NO! Not at all. My two sisters and I were each seven years apart in age. I was the youngest. One day, when I was about seven I watched my middle sister, who was fourteen, working on her art homework from John Burroughs Junior High School. It made such an impression on me that I’ve always remembered the painting and how it affected me. She has no memory of it, at all. Using watercolors, the painting was of a piece of driftwood, an apple beside it, and a watch with a chain draped over the driftwood.  I was stunned that she could capture those images so perfectly, so accurately.  Blown away, I don’t think that phrase was used then, but that’s how I felt. Immediately, I told myself that I was no artist…nope, no artist indeed…wouldn’t even try. If I couldn’t paint like that, then forget about it. And who at age seven could paint like that?


Yet, despite my intimidation, as a young girl, I would spend endless hours at my desk or on the floor, listening to radio shows like, Lets Pretend, Aldrich Family, Father Knows Best, Burns and Allen, while drawing pictures of princesses on horses, wearing beautiful gowns, pretty houses with blue skies, filling in coloring books…should I press hard for dark colors or outline hard and press lightly inside the lines? Big creative decisions. I did it because I loved coloring.  But “I was no artist.” My mother would yell “go outside and play.” Today, I encourage children to just experience color and drawing and not think about what it  “should look like.” Putting color and energy on paper, that’s enough. It’s the process of creating that’s important not the visual perception.

My mother taught me how to knit and embroider. Again, I loved working with my hands. I helped her create two huge tablecloths, we cross- stitched them working together, each starting from a different end. We would listen to the radio and do cross-stitch. I can’t believe she let me work with her because I was so young and inexperienced. I still have these tablecloths, wrapped carefully and  stored. These are precious to me and hold so many wonderful “mother” memories.

My mother had incredible eye-hand coordination as well as an artistic sensibility. Her knitting was perfection. Not too loose, not too tight, just perfect stitches. She also had beautiful murals painted on our kitchen and dining room walls. There were yellow roses climbing up a lattice in the kitchen and an ocean harbor theme in the dining room. Now, I’m not sure if that was the style of the day or just my mother’s need to have beauty around her.

My father had trained in Russia to be a dental technician. He was very proud of his profession. When he came to America he quickly gained the reputation of making the most perfect false teeth in Los Angeles. Then the Depression hit, people could not afford to have beautiful teeth made. With a  family to support, he went to work for his brothers, as a foreman in a burlap bag company. That was the end of his career. So sad. Both my parents had very finely tuned hand and eye skills. We did not realize at the time that their talents  were in fact,  pure artistry.

Me? I still said ‘no art.” I got involved with music—studied classical piano, musical theater, and a cappella choir. When I took a required  painting class in 7th grade, my teachers loved my art and were constantly complementing me. I figured they didn’t know what they were talking about, ignored them and went on my way, away from art. In high school, I continued singing and appearing in musicals. I joined the debate society because my boyfriends were involved in it. I even won a state wide competition. At  the same time I was obsessed with making scrolls. Scrolls were expressions and gifts of friendship and “have a nice day” that you pinned up on school bulletin boards to surprise your friends. They were created with  parchment papers, flowers, ribbons, sprinkles, colored inks, wrapped over and around styrofoam. I spent so much time making  and giving them away, I didn’t want to study. Hmm? Yet, I still never considered it “art.” My mother had to pry me away to do my homework. So that is the beginning, You’ll have to stay tuned to hear “the rest of the story.”

Did you become the person you thought you’d be when you were young?

You can check out my art at www.sandrasallin.com

 

All images appearing on Did you always know you were an artist? are the expressed property of Sandra Sallin. All rights reserved. In other words, don’t steal it!



  • angelawilder - What a beautiful child you were. I like hearing those memories, I don’t know a lot about Anna – the early years.
    Love this, thank you!ReplyCancel

    • sandra - Thank you Angela. I think I look like Emily when she was young. My mother always had the most beautiful house. Not in terms of money, but she always made it beautiful. Sound familiar?ReplyCancel

  • Diane Ross - These stores will be gems for your grandchildren.ReplyCancel

    • sandra - You’re right. My neice had not known some of the stories about my mother. More to come.ReplyCancel

  • Léo - Wonderful post, thank´s for sharing !ReplyCancel

  • Lisa - I agree. What a beautiful little girl. And the embroidery is lovely.ReplyCancel

    • sandra - Thank you. Obviously, I cannot part with them. So many memories.ReplyCancel

    • sandra - That little girl was the young me! Thank you.ReplyCancel

  • Carla Fischer - omg! what a pose! so cute! and she looks exactly like you now! you told your story beautifully and so touching…thankyou…lovely handwork…my grandmother celia taught me how to embroider too…we embroidered classic cars…i have them in my indelible memories…ReplyCancel

    • sandra - Who will teach embroidery now? Unless it’s an IPhone app?
      I took better pictures when I was younger, or maybe I was just cuter when I was younger? (G)ReplyCancel

      • cam - Ahem! I beg to differ…

        I seem to remember a lovely photograph of you from the not so distant past… People who didn’t even know you wanted to buy it from me.

        Your beauty, like your art, just keeps on getting more lush.ReplyCancel

        • sandra - Thank you my brilliant, genius photographer. Cam took a photo of me that is the ultimate insightful personal photograph.ReplyCancel

  • Phoenix Rising - An ode to new beginnings - Love the blog. I actually hopped over to your art site and I must tell you, LOVE LOVE LOVE your studio space and the prints are exquisite! I will definitely be back for the rest of this story 🙂ReplyCancel

    • sandra - Thank you for visiting my blog and art website. I love my studio also. Hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the storiesReplyCancel

Your email is never published or shared. Required fields are marked *

*

*

m o r e   i n f o