My father's love of fine art translated into there being lots of coffee table books, and the full Time-Life series on art. Ray started making high-quality pen and ink drawings and watercolor portraits when I was around ten years old (ish?). When I was a teen, he translated that into a livelihood, engineering an income that eventually surpassed his income as an aeronautics systems engineer. If the industry he was in started to go into lay-offs, he'd just invent a new job.
About once a year he piled us all into our VW bus and took us to the Museum of Fine Art in Boston. On the way to the museum, we'd walk through the Boston Public Gardens, ride the swan boats and feed the ducks. Sometimes we also visited the museums in Concord and Cambridge. I was fascinated with the glass flowers, so lifelike, and yet permanent. I tried to imagine how they grew. Marion and Ray made sure we experienced much of the beauty that mankind had created over the last few centuries.
A few times, as he prepared to apply to the Boston Commons Art Exhibition, I remember Ray pulling out his best paintings and drawings, setting them on couches, chairs and tables in the living room, and then calling us all in to enjoy the gallery. Then he would ask us which were our favorites and why. This was the start of my art education, helping us to develop discrimination and an eye for composition.
In our Christmas stockings there would always be something art-related, be it a water color set, a book about Japanese art, colored pencils, drawing pad—always something to fuel the creativity.
All this eventually led to my retirement career as an artist's assistant and graphics technician, an immeasurable enjoyment that I can directly attribute to my father's open sharing of his own passion for art.
Little vignette: Boston Commons Art Exhibition, strolling together as the family caravan, each child holding on to another. Suddenly one of us would spot a glint of silver and pull away from the pack. "Oh look! I found a quarter!" Minutes later another exclamation, "Hey I found a dime! Two dimes!" It took years for me to realize Ray was emptying his pockets strategically as we walked along.
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Gifts From My Dad
Non-FictionA tribute to my father, Carroll Raymond Bryan, Jr. This bit of writing is my gift to my father who passed from this world three weeks ago. It is about art and love, and anything that is not up to that measure will not be found here. Author, artist...
