I think my Grandmother started taking me with her to her painting classes when I was five years old. We would go to the community center with lots of other silver haired folks. I got to have my own box of paint and brushes. I would paint pictures of what i thought it looked like on mars, but only after I had spent a few years working on fucking flowers.
Grams was a stern teacher. I would bring home pictures of trees I would draw at school and she would tear me a new one for drawing "like a child". " " Trees don't look like that !" she would bellow, the shrill tone of her voice would carry like the scream of a banshee over the cold Irish sea.
With that being said, I shortly stopped enjoying the adult pressures of the art world and set my sights on a much more easily attainable goal, getting totally Punk Rock.