A few years ago my mother took me to the Art Institute of Chicago. It wasn't the first time I had gone, but It was the first time it changed me. My mother is not only a professor, but a lifetime learner of all things. She's always inspired me to know more and encouraged any hint of curiosity. During our trip she spoke to me quietly about each piece that we walked by. She guided me to see what I had dismissed through ignorance of technique and history. She kept telling me the entire trip how I was an artist, and how I could do these things these other artists had done. It made me blush. I couldn't be an artist... I didn't make anything as beautiful or as abstract or as mind blowing. I tried to make her stop saying it by changing the subject or looking away. She persisted. Eventually a tiny voice inside told me to be still and let the word roll around for a minute. I repeated the word inside my head. Artist. It felt so weird to put that name to myself, but I decided that it would never come true if I didn't start sometime. I painted this painting of a kind faced wolf shortly after that museum trip. I painted if for my friend Daniel. I've long described him as my artistic benefactor after all of the generosity that he has shown me over the years. He is always so quick to lend me positivity with my creativity. I wanted Dany's wolf to have kind eyes and be nearly smiling in a sleepy way. Dany's wolf should look as if he could never be mean.
