Paintings from Sunset Series by Spence Munsinger, Color Field + Blank White Canvas + Realism + Contemporary Abstract Art, original paintings for sale

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”
― Pablo Picasso

120 years and still readable…

My mom is 83 years old, clear headed, too adventurous, not cautious enough, sharp as a tack, a joy to have as a mom.

She kept a book in which I had written my name. My best guess from handwriting is that this would have been 11, 12 years old, and this book would have been in the Del Mar house, probably in the hall bookcase between living room and back deck/bedrooms. It says my name. In blue slightly smeared felt pen. I’m left handed, that explains the smears. But why blue? Why this book? I do not remember the act, or the book, not yet. It strikes a cord though. The book is “Bob Son of Battle”, by Alfred Ollivant. It was published in 1898. First edition. Not a book I recall at all. Photo of a dog on the cover.

It struck me – this book was printed 120 years ago. I read it as a child, and I can still – the binding is a bit cracked at the spine at the top (probably some idiot 12 year old boy opening the book flat as a pancake…). 120 years. Still completely legible. Not a notable book. Not a book I would ever have found again. But a physical artifact that another could see attachment to – I wrote my name in it. And because I was valued by her, she never threw it away. And it came back to me. Will a digital file ever, ever do that? Really? The loss, the loss of that kind of physical transfer is profound.

— spence

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