Here’s what my mother told me about my early days as an artist. She said I drew from the time I could hold a pencil: when I turned 30. Actually, a bit earlier. On walls, floors, sheets, whatever was within reach. The house began to look like the inside of Picasso’s brain. The parents soon wised up and loaded me with great piles of envelopes, notepads, paper bags, newspaper, bathroom tissue (bathroom tissue was tougher in those days), and other su … Read More
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