Saying so-long to one of my Southern Colours artist friends last Friday caused me to stop and think about some of my uncommon friends.
My definition of an uncommon friend is a person whose path crosses mine unexpectedly and, on the surface, doesn't have a lot in common with me and, yet, that person finds a lasting place in my life; for example, a starched and pressed banker with every hair in place who just might give the impression of being more than a wee bit uptight on first impression.
Randy Eidson is moving to Rome, Georgia, and it is a distance too great to travel for our weekly painting sessions. I met Randy at an opening reception. Since I am a person who circulates and introduces myself to everyone who will pause and talk, I struck up a conversation with Randy and his wife, Sylvia. Sylvia mentioned that Randy had recently retired and had done a couple of little paintings. Since Southern Colours had no male members at the time, I invited him to come and paint with us. I also invited him to join the Southeastern Pastel Society. His response was, "Right! I can just see myself trying to paint with the president of the Southeastern Pastel Society!" Nevertheless, he choked back his reservations and began showing up.
Yes, he was a beginner. Yes, he had a lot to learn. And, yes, he was timid. One of his more memorable Southern Colours moments is the day I picked up an almost black pastel, added it to his painting, and said, "THAT'S what I mean when I say dark." He began referring to me as his Queen of Darkness. Another is when, during a critique, I looked at his painting and said, "Well, I don't HATE it."
Randy's drive to create art overcame all of his reservations. He not only soaked up information like a sponge but also found local workshops in which to participate. He practiced and questioned and was willing to try whatever was suggested. Most of all he listened. And that, my friends, is the biggest secret of all. Today, Randy is an accomplished artist whose work holds its own with the best.
He recently told the group what Southern Colours has meant to him: "I am excited about our move to Rome in every respect except one. I am distressed over losing Southern Colours. You all have been wonderful people to know and whatever progress I have made in my painting is due at least as much to the mentoring and critiques of Southern Colours as it is to my teacher. I'll miss the companionship and the encouragement because, no matter what I find in Rome, nothing will fill the gap left by Southern Colours. Those of you who are long-time members know this already. But for the newer members, my advice is treasure what you have in this group. You won’t find it easily again." I wholeheartedly agree with Randy's assessment.
Our love of art brought our lives together when Randy and I had little else in common. Our differences came to the surface again last week when Randy was willing to come for one last lunch IF I didn't mind that he wore jeans or cargo pants. My response was that I was absolutely certain his jeans would be starched and pressed. He was about to reply to my e-mail with a snide remark when he realized that, indeed, all of his jeans are starched and pressed. So here's to Randy, my uncommon friend. He's already planning periodic trips to paint with us and we're already planning to visit his new studio in Rome. Can't wait. One can never say goodbye to an uncommon friend.
My definition of an uncommon friend is a person whose path crosses mine unexpectedly and, on the surface, doesn't have a lot in common with me and, yet, that person finds a lasting place in my life; for example, a starched and pressed banker with every hair in place who just might give the impression of being more than a wee bit uptight on first impression.
Randy Eidson is moving to Rome, Georgia, and it is a distance too great to travel for our weekly painting sessions. I met Randy at an opening reception. Since I am a person who circulates and introduces myself to everyone who will pause and talk, I struck up a conversation with Randy and his wife, Sylvia. Sylvia mentioned that Randy had recently retired and had done a couple of little paintings. Since Southern Colours had no male members at the time, I invited him to come and paint with us. I also invited him to join the Southeastern Pastel Society. His response was, "Right! I can just see myself trying to paint with the president of the Southeastern Pastel Society!" Nevertheless, he choked back his reservations and began showing up.
Yes, he was a beginner. Yes, he had a lot to learn. And, yes, he was timid. One of his more memorable Southern Colours moments is the day I picked up an almost black pastel, added it to his painting, and said, "THAT'S what I mean when I say dark." He began referring to me as his Queen of Darkness. Another is when, during a critique, I looked at his painting and said, "Well, I don't HATE it."
Randy's drive to create art overcame all of his reservations. He not only soaked up information like a sponge but also found local workshops in which to participate. He practiced and questioned and was willing to try whatever was suggested. Most of all he listened. And that, my friends, is the biggest secret of all. Today, Randy is an accomplished artist whose work holds its own with the best.
He recently told the group what Southern Colours has meant to him: "I am excited about our move to Rome in every respect except one. I am distressed over losing Southern Colours. You all have been wonderful people to know and whatever progress I have made in my painting is due at least as much to the mentoring and critiques of Southern Colours as it is to my teacher. I'll miss the companionship and the encouragement because, no matter what I find in Rome, nothing will fill the gap left by Southern Colours. Those of you who are long-time members know this already. But for the newer members, my advice is treasure what you have in this group. You won’t find it easily again." I wholeheartedly agree with Randy's assessment.
Our love of art brought our lives together when Randy and I had little else in common. Our differences came to the surface again last week when Randy was willing to come for one last lunch IF I didn't mind that he wore jeans or cargo pants. My response was that I was absolutely certain his jeans would be starched and pressed. He was about to reply to my e-mail with a snide remark when he realized that, indeed, all of his jeans are starched and pressed. So here's to Randy, my uncommon friend. He's already planning periodic trips to paint with us and we're already planning to visit his new studio in Rome. Can't wait. One can never say goodbye to an uncommon friend.
The Aspen Family by Randy Eidson
