Good news/ bad news
I wanted to write and tell you all that I have won a major art award. I entered my Penn Band painting in the annual contest sponsored by The Artist's Magazine (a national publication - I'm not sure how available it is outside the U.S.) and won first place in the student division, still life category. This is really big news, very exciting and important for my career...BUT....
Any joy I can take in this has been heavily marred by the fact that my art teacher, my friend and mentor, Attilla Hejja has died. He was only 52 and it is absolutely shocking. He went sailing on Saturday, came back and fell asleep in his boat and never woke up. Of course, if he could have planned the manner of his passing, I don't think he could have wished for anything more, but still, he was far too young!
I had just had lunch with him on Friday, and he was planning all kinds of publicity for me (and the school) because of the award I won. He told me how proud he was of me and what great things he expected of me in the future. At least, I am so glad now that I got a chance to share the award with him, to go out to lunch, to have my last memories of him be so warm and positive.
But I look around my den at my paintings hanging on the walls, and note here and there a particular brush stroke he made to show me what to do,..... and I am utterly devastated.
Any joy I can take in this has been heavily marred by the fact that my art teacher, my friend and mentor, Attilla Hejja has died. He was only 52 and it is absolutely shocking. He went sailing on Saturday, came back and fell asleep in his boat and never woke up. Of course, if he could have planned the manner of his passing, I don't think he could have wished for anything more, but still, he was far too young!
I had just had lunch with him on Friday, and he was planning all kinds of publicity for me (and the school) because of the award I won. He told me how proud he was of me and what great things he expected of me in the future. At least, I am so glad now that I got a chance to share the award with him, to go out to lunch, to have my last memories of him be so warm and positive.
But I look around my den at my paintings hanging on the walls, and note here and there a particular brush stroke he made to show me what to do,..... and I am utterly devastated.