Art = Art by Jody Feldman

Bug by Jody Feldman, age 6
I knew, from a very early age, that when I grew up, I’d never become an artist. Don’t misunderstand. I loved to draw and paint and create. And the things I drew were completely recognizable.

It’s just that the man whose bedroom was around the corner from mine WAS an profession. I’d stand right next to his drawing table, mesmerized, as my dad made things appear from nothing but a blank piece of paper and a pencil or marker or paintbrush or airbrush.

I knew I could never be that good. What I didn’t know, and what I try to tell kids when I visit schools, is that he didn’t draw like that when he was my age. It took him years of school and work; years of developing and honing; years of trials and mistrials and, especially, dedication before he climbed to the top tier of his profession.

It’s funny. From my current perspective, I can see the parallels; how we, as writers, also make magic appear from a blank piece of paper. How we weren’t born with this ability. How we’ve needed to find the dedication to work and develop and hone. How we go through mistakes and mistrials to produce a collection of words that are worthy of others to read.

Even at the close of his career, my dad still played with new techniques and media while he worked on his craft. As for me? I hope; no, I expect these parallels to continue.
Self-portrait of the artist


  1. This is so cool! I never knew your dad was an artist. Like father, like daughter.


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