I started drawing when I was 3, or at least that’s what my mom always told me. She was an english teacher, but she could never find it in her heart to get on to me when I would color over the illustrations in my story books. She always said that I was just trying to make them better. Having that type of support system is dangerous for an artist, because I grew up with the spiderman way of thinking. With great power comes great responsibility, right? Only in my family, we replaced “power” with “talent”.
I hear it almost every time I post an image of my work, especially from Mississippians,
“Your work reminds me of Walter Anderson.”
I always smile politely, because the person doesn’t realise that they have just given me the highest compliment I could receive. But before you can really understand why, you need a little backstory. You see, my entire childhood was bounced around the Southern United States as an oil field kid, always hearing my parents talk about how “home” was really Laurel, MS. When I was finishing up the third grade, I remember my parents sitting my brother and I down and telling us that we would be moving. Again.