CHAPTER 1

Introduction

"I Painted the Light" at the age of 5

I loved kindergarten! I loved playing with other children myage. I loved all the play stations where we could explore so manydifferent toys and make-believe worlds. I enjoyed the teachers andtheir wonderful enthusiasm. I was free to learn and experience somany new things. It was the first time I had ever been read a book andthe fairy tales were fun and fascinating. The stories had wonderfulmessages and colorful, imaginative pictures. I just loved kindergarten!My Appalachian culture at home was so dull and dreary comparedto this bright engaging environment. I finally had something otherthan my sheltered existence at home.

I also learned about finger painting. I was allowed to use a hugepiece of paper from a flip chart—all my own! What a privilege tohave a page nearly as big as me to use all for myself! I couldn't waituntil it was my turn to paint! I loved dipping my little fingers intothe gushy paints. I loved smooshing the paint between my littlepalms and feeling it squish between my fingers as I clasped my handstogether and squeezed. The slurpy sound and the slippery wetnesswere delightful sensations. Kindergarten was the beginning of myown personal expression of self.

On my day to paint, I donned my Dad's huge old denim workshirtas my painting smock. I dipped my hands into the yellow paint jarand began smearing the wonderful color on the page. I went back formore. And more. And more. I ignored the vibrant reds, the colorfulgreens, the rich blues and purples. All I wanted was the bright yellow.And on and on I dipped my hands into the yellow paint jar andcovered the entire page. Not one corner of my huge paper canvaswas left untouched by my little yellow hands.

My teacher asked if I wanted to use the other colors or addsome accents to my page. "No," I told my teacher. I shook my headadamantly back and forth. I thought to myself, This is all I want. Thiswonderful, beautiful, luminous yellow! On and on I painted, coveringevery speck of white space with that radiant, shimmering yellow.And when I was done, I stood back with all the confidence of a self-assuredfive year old and I beamed at what I had created.

There it was! I had recreated my yellow space! I had paintedthe Light! My warm, safe light. I was so proud! Wait til I show this toDaddy! I said proudly to myself. I was oblivious to the curious looksof my teachers.

The paper hung on the draped line to dry. It must have takenmuch longer to dry than the other children's paintings because therewas so much paint on that paper. Other kids had painted a cruderendoring of their house, or maybe their Mom and Dad and thefamily dog. Others had created a modern art design with swishesof blue and a blot of red or a hand print in green. But no one hadentirely covered their whole canvas with paint. And certainly noone had used only one color. My painting was so different than theothers and yet I didn't care. The excitement I felt was exhilarating!I was so thrilled about my yellow space! The anticipation of takingthis beautiful creation home to my Dad was overwhelming.

At the end of the day, my wonderful canvas was released fromthe metal clips holding it up to dry, then rolled carefully into a tube-likeshape. A trusty rubber band was placed around its belly and thenthe masterpiece was placed in my now clean little hands. Oh, waittil I show Daddy! the little voice in my head screamed. Wait til I showhim this!

My morning kindergarten class was over and Peggy, an olderneighbor girl, walked me home. My excitement was spilling overthe top and I wanted to run the five blocks home, but Peggy wouldhave none of that. We took our usual pace and it felt like an eternity.When I got home, Mom had lunch waiting for me and asked aboutthe papers I had brought home. She looked at my painting and musthave mumbled something about it, but I didn't care if she even lookedat it. I really...