Melissa Stephens Art

My husband, Art, recently launched his own blog. His “why” for writing? To help him answer the question he is most often asked when anyone discovers we have visited all 63 national parks, “which park was your favorite?” It’s a simple, 5-word question that’s lead to a complex, many word answer. To that end, he’s been spending time revisiting old travel journals and photos, steeping himself in memories from as recent as 2024 (The National Park of American Samoa) to as remote as 1989 (the Grand Canyon). Combing through those 35 years, he’s distilled the parks into a rank-order list and begun to write about each one. Kudos to him for doing the hard work to answer that seemingly easy question.

Reading his “why” was a gentle reminder that, in over 6 years, I’ve never been able to articulate a reasonable response to the question I’m most often asked, “how did you get interested in art?” I’ve bumbled and stumbled my way through explanations make no sense, even to me. I’ve shrugged my shoulders, a lot. I’ve admitted, more often than not, “I have no idea.” How did I get interested in art? 

It’s not for lack of trying that the answer still eludes me. Like an archaeologist, I’ve dug into my childhood and school-age years and found, as Yukon Cornelius is fond of saying in Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, “Nothing!” Until my late 30’s, I know there was no space in my life for art, making it or appreciating it. Regrettably, for over half my life, I was a card-carrying member of the “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body” club.

What changed? This past week I had an “aha” moment when, of all things, I was placing an order on Amazon. Who knew $21.59 could be so revelatory? I was buying a present for my (almost) 8-year-old great niece, Logan, who has loved making art since she could hold a pencil. I’ve gifted her art supplies in the past and was racking my brain to think of something different when a cog turned, unlocking a memory from when my own children were around age 8. Bursting with pride, they would bring home colorful masterpieces they’d made in their elementary school art class with Mr. Goss. I loved the watercolors, tempera paints, colored pencils, clay, and every other art medium their little hands explored. It was in witnessing their creativity, their joyful self-expression, that I first saw art, first appreciated art, and first became curious about making art myself. I remember TJ’s wide smile when he showed me his super-saturated, full-of-life pumpkin (below) colored with cray pas, oil pastel crayons. I’d never heard of them! But his excitement was contagious and that evening, in the quiet of a sleeping house, I searched Amazon and placed an order for our very own set of bright, happy cray pas to play with at home. They were as glorious as he described, buttery soft and vibrantly colorful, pure fun! They were my gateway art supply, one box of cray pas and I was hooked, addicted to a life of creating in full color.

Mr. Goss went on, after our kids finished elementary school, to teach art in the high school. I begged the boys to take his Fundamentals of Art class, but each son politely declined. Drat! I would have loved to see what their nearly grown-up hands created, and I would have loved to learn vicariously about art and art supplies through them. It would be another 10+ years until I found my way into my first brick-and-mortar art store, where I discovered a treasure trove of creative possibilities; and another 10+ years after that until I settled upon my favorite art supplies and began to develop my own visual language.

I’m sure by now you can guess what $21.59 gift I chose to purchase last week from Amazon for my great niece? Yep, a set of 50 cray pas! Now, I recognize them as the first breadcrumb on my trail to becoming an artist. Now, the next time someone asks me, “how did you get interested in art?” I’ll respond, “because my children were amazing elementary school artists!” Who knows, maybe someday when someone asks Logan, “how did you get interested in art,” she’ll smile and say with confidence, “I’ve loved art since I was 8 years old!” Maybe she’ll tell them how proud she was when her great aunt hung her artwork, like a high-end gallery show, for all the Thanksgiving guests to see and admire. Maybe she’ll share how much she enjoyed seeing my art studio. Maybe a tiny bit of my art story will become a tiny bit of her art story. Maybe, just maybe, after the last of the dessert dishes are cleared from the dining room table this Thursday, we’ll open that box of cray pas and color together, Logan, TJ, and I, like we’re all 8 years old!