This isn't a photograph of me. But it captures a moment in time that was a turning point in my journey as an artist. It was taken in 2015, and while I remember the moment, unfortunately I don't know this gentleman's name. But I'll never forget what he was doing on that day on a boat on a river in France. 

Always restless, my father kept me quiet in church by teaching me to copy basic shapes drawn in the margins of the bulletin. I was blessed with access to the variety of art classes in the small city where I grew up, Salisbury, North Carolina. My training continued with classes in high school where I also worked as a photographer for the school newspaper and yearbook, learning all the necessary darkroom skills.

I began my university studies as a fine arts major at UNC-Chapel Hill with classes in the history of art and architecture, life drawing, painting and design. In 1973 I transferred to NC State for a degree in architecture, my father's profession, on the assumption that a professional degree would make earning a living more likely.

I practiced architecture for forty years, then retiring from formal practice, I started a consulting practice helping small, liberal arts colleges with campus planning and facilities project management. And for 44 years I didn't pick up a paintbrush, unless I was painting a wall or a piece of furniture.

Then, on a river cruise in France I saw this guy with a sketchbook, a paintbrush, and a small box of watercolors and thought to myself, "I should be be doing that."