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The Artist

My dad is an artist. Yes, it’s his full-time job. No, my parents aren’t rich but I’m proud of him because he is happy and I believe art matters in this world.

My sister, my brother and I were all given pencils, paint, clay and other art supplies very young and we were encouraged to express ourselves. I clearly remember drawing on the back of bookshelves and no, I wasn’t punished for that.

Later, my sister went into ballet and acting, my brother is into drawing and sculpting and I like photography and writing.

I hadn’t had the chance to teach Mark how to hold a pencil or draw shapes—I figured my dad will. So we took him to my dad’s atelier. He set up a canvas for him and we gave him charcoal. He stood there, “drawing” and dancing to the music playing (Pink Floyd, bien sûr). We sat there, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, watching Mark discovering his own artistic skills.

Plutôt cool, non?

You can see the com­plete set of pic­tures taken in France on Flickr.

Mark at the Atelier
Mark at the Atelier
"Toy Gun" my Brother Made
“Toy Gun” my Brother Made
"Toy Gun" my Brother Made
“Toy Gun” my Brother Made
Mark, My Dad and Feng
Mark, My Dad and Feng
My Dad and Mark
My Dad and Mark
Mark Drawing
Mark Drawing
Feng and I
Feng and I
The Artist
The Artist
The Artist
The Artist

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