“Of all God’s gifts to the sight of man, color is the holiest, the most divine, the most solemn.” John Ruskin

To my memory, I grew up in a pretty colorful environment. In  the 1950’s, our  house was turquoise,  and our car was fushia. In our living room – bright lime green chairs and flamingo pink curtains. In the kitchen, colorful Fiestaware dishes. But the experience of color that lit the fire of an artist in me, was watching my mother paint a trio of circus themed paint-by-numbers for my soon-to-be baby brother’s nursery. I watched at her elbow daily as the paintings took shape, mesmerized by the tiny color- filled paint pots, the smell of turpentine, and the magic as she placed one color next to the other until forms took shape as a giraffe,  an elephant, a circus pony. It was nothing short of magic to eye of a six year old. I watched till the very last brush stroke was placed ever so perfectly on the end of the giraffe’s tongue  – a tiny dot of  shiny white. My mother was a genius! I wanted to do that someday too, and as time passed, I did that and much more.

Fast forward to me an artist in 1972,  a new mom, setting up my soon-to-be son’s nursery, hanging that sweet and colorful memory on his wall. I still own that treasured set of paint-by-numbers, and they have photographs taped to back of them.  One of my mother proudly propping up her new son in his blue polka dot diapers with the circus paintings on the wall behind them and another, me with my new baby boy, and  the same set hanging behind us.

Now, it’s 2013 and that set  of paint-by-numbers hang in my Texas studio as a constant reminder of  how color can in fact, be the greatest gift to the sight of man, and a nod to my mother, for raising me in such a colorful, joyful environment.

There is a Hindu festival called Holi, during which crowds of celebrants hurl colored powders at each other in commemoration of Krishna’s pranks. It’s a frenzied scene of crowds with whirls of color and the faces of people covered in hot pink, yellow,  and orange. So as solemn and holy as John Ruskin’s comment on God’s gift of color is, I prefer the Holi celebration where worship is a loud and joyful festival of color. But he is most certainly correct on the divine part.

May you live in a world of  joyful color.

( featured photograph by Catherine Massaro)

50 \ 50 chance there is a roll of toilet paper under that skirt…however, I did not look. After all, who looks up a lady’s skirt?

(photography by Catherine Massaro)

A sort of disturbing dresser, right?

I’m taking my annual trip back to Buffalo next week to see my friends and family.

Part of the whole ‘growing up in Buffalo ‘ experience is a connection to Niagara Falls, which was virtually in our backyard and a place we went to often on a lark. (that meant skipping school)

It’s a good thing we did not have iPhones or smartphones back then. We would have been caught more than we already did. Photographing ‘the falls’ and being photographed by it, are great moments that must make George Eastman smile down from heaven every day.

My father introduced me to the camera and developing pictures. I have boxes of pictures. Real ones. The ones you hold in your hand and can’t seem to throw away. I don’t want to anyway. Those old pictures, and new ones that you make a print from are a shared legacy.

Hold it in your hand.

Carry it in your wallet.

Let it get all dog eared and funky.

Put it in a photo album, or tuck it in a sketch book… keep it over a lifetime, and then, just before it crumbles, find a way to preserve it and pass it on – all raggedy and loved.

Worthwhile things should endure, because a disposable legacy, is no legacy at all.