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  • My family are Water Colorists. Painters, yes, but more specifically (and to be honest, more importantly) Water Colorists. The Bakers down the street are Painters too, but they are Oilists and my mother always mutters under her breath about their over indulgence with spirits. I am allowed to play baseball or football with their son John, but we don’t ever paint together and there is no way I would be allowed to ever date his sister. Oil and water, you know...

    Across town lives the Miller family. They are Sculptors. My grandfather minces no words about Sculptors. Three dimensions are an abomination, plain and simple. Even baseball with their son Bill isn’t a possibility.

    In our town there are mostly Painters and most of us are Water Colorists. There are some Oilists, like the Bakers and a few of the others... Temperaists, Acrylists and the like but not many. There are only a few Sculptors. There aren’t any Photographers in town. Once, when a girl who had moved away went and got engaged to a Photographer, my grandmother said, “Photographer? Is that some kind of cult?” My uncle Joe figures all Photographers are terrorists.

    I’ve never said this out loud before, but I’ve always wondered about it... we’re all artists of one variety or another aren’t we? We’re all searching for the eternal, the holy, the infinite “more” in what we do, so why do all the other mediums have to be wrong for ours to be right? Don’t get me wrong, I love Water Colors, but I just can’t shake the feeling that there could very well be something amazing I am meant to learn from an Oil Painter, perhaps even a Sculptor or (do not tell this to ANYONE) even a Photographer.
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