Monday, January 27, 2014


It seems to be universal, the older we get the more we want to remember out past, and the events and circumstances that helped create who we are.  Memories become increasingly important, and we cherish them, albeit selectively.  Psychologists are quick to remind us that our memories have been filtered by time, and cannot be taken as literal historic truths.  My feeling about this is “so what”.  Filtered, selective, or whatever, their importance to my understanding of who I am cannot be denied, and they will always remain a vital part of my journey.

I recently joined two facebook groups that are devoted to sharing memories of growing up in Wilmington Delaware.  It is obvious from the comments and photos posted that the memories are cherished stories, and like dominoes, each story elicits another, as old memories are shaken loose. I was 30 years old when we moved to Wilmington in 1969 and lived in the city for 17 years. But some of the most intense and life changing years of my life occurred in that city when I recognized that I wanted to pursue a life in art as much as I did in medicine.

I don’t have memories of buying candy as a child at Govatos, or shopping with my mother at Wilmington Dry; but I have memories of how I walked the streets downtown with my camera and sketchbook, fascinated by Govatos, Wilmington Dry, and the architecture of local shops and businesses.  I remember the delight in painting these places and the response of people who saw them.  My memories of Wilmington are in my artwork.  Each painting reminds me of a place, a time, and often someone long forgotten, and when I share them on these groups, they often evoke similar memories in others.  And that pleases me.

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