I grew up with 24 uncles and aunts and out of all them, my Aunt Pat Pearson (1922-2007) was the most unusual. And in my family, that is saying a lot, believe me.
In other places I have documented how wonderful my parents were in encouraging my development as a cartoonist. My Father had a genetic gift for drawing which was handicapped by his early years in grinding poverty in the Virginia Cumberland Mountains. Being great at illustrating didn't help much when one was trying to survive. But he was a great artist, just in the way he regarded life. In the rare times he drew anything, I recall being thrilled by the result. He didn't know it, but he was a poet and conceptual artist by the life he led. He took risks no sane person would take, and he was rewarded for those decisions.
My Mother, being a professional educator and the product of Washington pioneer stock (I had to slip that in), saw very early that I loved the graphic art form and really nurtured and promoted my art education. Ironically, although my Mom was not an artist herself, she recognized the strain more than my Dad, and saw that it was an important part of being human.
So I was lucky in the parent department.
So, what did my Aunt Pat contribute to this foundation?
Pat never had any children and she eventually became the stereotype Crazy Cat Lady, leaving perhaps as many 20 cats in her little apartment when she died. But when I was little she was the most glamorous woman I knew. She designed and made her own clothes. She carried herself as if she was on the runway. She was creative. And she painted.
At the time (mid-1960s) I recall being so impressed that someone I knew had actually painted a picture! In oil! That had a big impact on me. A grownup I was related to had produced a painting!
As an adult I now see her work as a form of folk art. But I honor her influence on my own creativity by hanging one of her paintings in my hallway. It is, I believe, a picture of
4th and Capitol, in Olympia, Washington, facing east in the late 19th century.
Yes, it is not a great work of art by itself. But it means a lot to me.
Pat's painting at the end of my hallway
Another Pat painting
Pat, 1960
Me and my hero, my Dad, July 1959, Millersylvania
I actually recall this event in a spotty way.
So Aunt Pat, here's to your memory and contribution. You will be happy to know every single cat you left behind found a good home after you left us. And you let me know it was OK to be a grownup and creative. Thank you.
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