I was born in 1949, the youngest of six kids, on a small scruffy farm in Pennsylvania that was so isolated that I had no real playmates. My siblings were all a great deal older than me. So, I reveled in what is now referred to as the inner child.
My friends were nature's creations: barn cats, the ever present creek, the wind and the sky. Up until I was five years old, I pretty much ran around barefoot... carefree.
One day my mother plunked me in the washtub, braided my hair into two little straw ropes and stuck me on a big, yellow school bus for my induction into the first grade. Our home was so remote that I didn't even have a birth certificate. So, when I started school they had to make one for me.
I remember we had a sandstone-lined well, a ramshackle barn, a dilapidated chicken coop, oil lamps, and a coal-burning stove. We didn't have the luxury of television that the children of today admire so much. So before I began school (and in the summers there after), I spent long days living within my imagination... creating my own world.
One of my sisters, who was studying to become an art teacher started to allow me to use her art supplies. This is when the magic truly began for me, and I practiced constantly.
Then on one particular day, I found myself standing in our yard between two huge maple trees. The breeze was calm and peaceful through the swaying trees. Often, a leaf would break away and drift softly to the ground. Then suddenly it happened...
A flurry of small yellow butterflies whirled in on the wind. A small happy one came and landed on my hand. I giggled, and then I stared in amazement. The day's sunlight shone through its delicate yellow wings. I reached out to touch the wing that was filled with light, and in doing so, I felt the powdery chalk on the end of my finger as the butterfly flittered away.
I had to know who made these beautiful things. I checked in the ol' chicken coop, the barn, and any place else I thought the "Great Artist" might hide. My sister insisted that it wasn't her who created them, but she advised that I should keep paying attention to the important things in life (like the beauty of nature and the feelings around me). She told me that if I applied myself to learning, I would someday know who paints the butterflies' wings, and perhaps I would know why. As with all children though, I wanted to know then; I felt happy, frustrated, and curious toward the mysteries of life.
As my education progressed, studying science, I discovered at a young age the symmetry of veins--the ones in my hand, the ones in trees' leaves and the ones in a butterfly's wing. I still do not know who paints them or why. I only know that they are perfect and they bring so much joy and life to so many. This is the reason that I chose leaves as my canvas.
We are as one upon the Great Earth, and if these whimsical pictures help you to look into yourself and see the light, then I'll laugh and fly with you high up in the blue sky like the butterflies... letting the wind carry us to far off beautiful places.
--Noble Cheer
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