The single greatest influence on my becoming an artist is my own mother. As a child herself, she loved to draw. My mother, also named Ann, did illustration for her high school yearbook and probably other projects of which I’m unaware. She was the artist in my life. And I wanted to be just like her.

What I remember is her endless doodling, me finding drawings of faces, horses, dogs- on sheets of stationery she left lying around. These pictures weren’t meant for display. But they were the only visible clues to the shy, introverted woman she was, And her artwork was the only true, intimate thing she allowed me to share with her. I begged her to draw for me, and because it was easy for her, she indulged my requests. A little pen sketch could be my reward for being a good girl, for finishing my milk or going to bed when I was told to. Seeing her make images come alive with the point of a simple ballpoint pen was magic.

They say creative talent is inherited. To go by my mother and me, I’d say that’s true. We were both artists at a young age. She would not go on to develop as an artist in any way, unfortunately. But my gift was nurtured. Not so much by family, for a variety of reasons, but by generous teachers, mentors, friends, divine intervention and circumstances, and, maybe, by some inner, unrelenting obsession on my part. From a young age, I was labeled ‘artist’ and I never felt right trying to be anything else.

As a child I was a compulsive drawing fool. I drew on spare envelopes, on the fronts, bottoms and then the insides of brown paper bags if there was nothing else around. I drew on things I wasn’t supposed to such as receipts or notes meant for someone else. If you left a piece of paper around when I was young, you can bet I scribbled on it. I doodled on the desk blotters in my dad’s shop. As a teen, and even in college, I drew on every square inch of school notebooks and on paper bookcovers. You can bet I’m doodling if I’m on the phone with you. It’s not something I think about it. And sometimes the doodles make absolutely no sense to me whatsoever. They just happen.

As a kid, I could be bought with a plain box of watercolor pans and a pad of paper. I begged for crayons, selfishly hording them from my siblings for fear the waxy gems would be broken, or worse, used. I loved getting paint-by-number kits, or having mimeograph pictures to color in school, to bring home to show my parents. I waited longingly for Thursday morning art class. The highlight of my week at age 5 was in kindergarten when it was my turn to use the painting easel and wear a smock. I wanted every coloring book there was. I wanted every magic marker, every pencil, every brush. I guess nothing’s really changed.

There is a rich legacy of creativity in my family. From my dad, there’s the pull towards photography, there’s the love of music making, singing, and cooking. The photography gene actually goes farther back on my mother’s side, all the way to my great-grandfather who had his own studio in the 1930’s. My grandmother was not only a teacher, but a writer, which I came to find out about only as recently as last summer. Several of my cousins are making a living at creative jobs. And I see evidence that these creative gifts are blossoming in the next generation, as well.

In my mom’s day, women didn’t talk about their dreams so much…they really couldn’t hope to be more than nurses, teachers and of course, mother’s. A woman could have a hobby. But hobbies were hard to fit in, especially for a woman who had five children in eight years of marriage. Life was pretty hard for her and it never really got any easier. Later on, none of us could encourage her to take up her art again, even after she retired. Many gifts of pencils and drawing pads went unused. She just couldn’t bare to try.

I wish my mother could have experienced the joy that I do today. I wish she could have made a living with her talent or even had a chance to incorporate her gift into her every day routine. I wish she had found the happiness that always eluded her. If I can do anything right in my own life, it will be to make sure that no other talent is left wanting. We should all be allowed to make art. In any way we can.

© 2010 Ann Haaland