Never Forget Who Helped You Begin

An Artist’s Reflection on Family, Gratitude, and the People Who Open Doors

Sitting beneath the canopy of trees at Café Degas in New Orleans this weekend, enjoying brunch with my older brother Bob, Cynthia and I found ourselves traveling back more than half a century. The food was delightful, the conversation even better, but it wasn’t what was on the table that occupied my thoughts. It was everything my brother had brought to it over the years.

Bob is ten years my senior and has long called New Orleans home. I first visited him when I was seventeen, a young fellow from North Carolina with big dreams and little understanding of the world beyond my own backyard. New Orleans was bigger than life. Its music, architecture, galleries, and creative spirit stirred something within me.

Little did I know how important this city and my brother would become to my future.

Every Beginning Needs Someone Who Believes
Long before anyone knew my name as an artist, Bob believed in what I might become. He purchased my early paintings, helped secure commissions, and even assisted me in opening my first gallery.

Through his encouragement, I eventually had an opportunity to exhibit at the Bryant Gallery in the French Quarter. Imagine what that meant to a fledgling artist trying to find his footing!

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person isn’t money or opportunity. It’s the confidence that comes from knowing someone believes in us before the world has reason to.

Inspiration Often Has Family Roots
There’s a wonderful irony in where we chose to have brunch.

Café Degas takes its name from the celebrated French artist Edgar Degas, who came to New Orleans in 1872 to spend time with his maternal family. During his stay on Esplanade Avenue, he found new subjects to paint and fresh perspectives that contributed to his artistic journey.

More than a century later, another young artist would find encouragement and opportunity in that same remarkable city, thanks in large part to his own family.

The circumstances were different, but the connection struck me. Our creativity may be deeply personal, yet the people who surround us often help shape what becomes possible. No masterpiece is entirely the work of one person.

Never Outgrow Your Beginnings
My dear Aunt Kate, who helped raise me, had a saying that has followed me throughout my life:

“Remember where you come from, and how it used to be.”

As I approach my fiftieth anniversary of painting professionally, those words carry more meaning than ever. Nearly five decades, thousands of paintings, countless friendships, and opportunities I could never have imagined have filled the years since those early New Orleans visits.

Yet sitting across from Bob, I was reminded that success isn’t simply measured by how far we’ve traveled. It’s also measured by how well we remember those who helped us along the way.

A Thought to Take Home

We all have a Bob in our lives. Someone who opened a door, offered encouragement, took a chance, or saw something in us that we had yet to see in ourselves. And perhaps, more importantly, we all have the opportunity to be that person for someone else.

As we finished brunch, I realized that fifty years of painting have taught me many things. But one of the most valuable lessons has little to do with a brush or canvas.

Never become so occupied with where you’re going that you forget who helped you get there. Aunt Kate would have liked that.

And Bob, thank you for helping me begin.

When People Become the Bridge of Hope

A cocktail reception usually involves balancing a drink, a small plate, and a conversation. At the North Carolina Assisted Living Association conference, we added a paintbrush. After my keynote, members joined me at an easel to help paint a bridge from Greensboro’s Fisher Park. I’ve spent nearly fifty years working on paintings, but there is still something wonderfully entertaining about handing someone a brush and inviting them into yours.

Earlier, I had stood onstage sharing There’s an A.R.T. to Making a Difference: Awareness, Resourcefulness, and Timing. Later, beside that canvas, the message became something we could put our hands on. The bridge offered a fitting picture of the people in that room and the connections they create for residents and families.

Awareness begins with seeing the person
A landscape painter learns to look beyond the obvious. The bridge may catch your eye first, but its character comes from the light, the reflections, and the surroundings that give it meaning.

People who care for older adults practice their own kind of attentive seeing. A resident has a lifetime of memories, preferences, accomplishments, and relationships. A family member may arrive carrying questions they find difficult to ask. Recognizing the person behind the immediate need is where meaningful care begins. Sometimes the most valuable gift we offer is the assurance that someone has been seen.

Resourcefulness grows when we invite others to participate
The Fisher Park painting was prepared before the reception, but I left opportunities for members to contribute. Each person could add something to a work already underway. My role was to guide them and make room for their participation.

That experience reminded me how much leadership depends on helping others recognize what they can contribute. We all bring different skills, experience, and confidence. When people are trusted and encouraged to use those gifts, a shared undertaking becomes richer. At the easel, that meant another hand adding paint. In a community, it might mean a staff member finding a thoughtful way to make someone’s day easier.

Timing turns a good intention into a gift
Yesterday, I read Ralph Marston’s reflection “Make Your Choice” in The Daily Motivator. His reminder to choose a worthwhile possibility and act on it brought me back to the reception. A painting cannot move forward while every brush remains on the table.

The same is true of kindness. A reassuring conversation, a moment of patience, or an invitation to join in matters because someone chooses to offer it. We may never know how much a small gesture means to the person receiving it. We can still make the gesture.

I came to NCALA to share what art has taught me. I left thinking about the artistry of people who help others feel safe, connected, and at home. Our Fisher Park bridge became a symbol of that gift: helping someone cross from uncertainty toward belonging.

This week, look for one person who could use that connection. Then take the first step toward them.

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What Makes A Place Worth Calling Home?

Put an artist, an entrepreneur, a concert production executive, and a professional soccer team founder behind the same table, and you might expect a lively discussion about entertainment. Last Wednesday, we tackled the economy. Thankfully, no one asked me to illustrate interest rates.

I had the pleasure of joining Charlie Grubb of The Ridge and SE Logo Wear, Michael Brammer of Concert Stuff Group, and Megan Oglesby, founder and principal investor of Carolina Core FC, for a breakfast panel at The Ridge. John Martin, partner at Fourth Elm Construction, guided the conversation, and Andy Harding welcomed us for an hour of stories, perspectives, and thoughtful questions about our region’s future.

What stayed with me was the optimism. We had all weathered more difficult times. We understood the uncertainty that comes with running a business. Yet we shared a conviction that the Piedmont Triad offers something exceptional. Megan’s reflection captured it beautifully: she could hardly imagine a finer place to work and raise a family.

That led me to three thoughts about what makes a community prosper.

First, people need more than a paycheck to feel at home.
Jobs matter enormously. So do the places where we gather, celebrate, and create memories. Charlie brings an entrepreneur’s eye to building businesses and welcoming people. Michael helps make live entertainment possible through a North Carolina company whose work reaches far beyond our state. Megan’s investment in soccer gives people a team to cheer for and another reason to gather.

Their businesses differ, but I see a common contribution: each helps make this a place people want to be.

Second, art belongs in the economic conversation.
For nearly fifty years, I have earned my living painting North Carolina. That experience has taught me that creativity carries responsibilities as well as rewards. An art business involves printers, framers, suppliers, collectors, and relationships built over decades.

But a painting can contribute something beyond a transaction. It can help someone see the beauty of a familiar place again. It can preserve a memory, express a community’s identity, or inspire generosity. Through the Honor Card, I have watched an image become an invitation to help a neighbor.

I believe that is part of our state’s strength: we can build opportunity while caring for the people and places that give it meaning.

Third, optimism becomes valuable when we act on it.
Listening to my fellow panelists, I recognized the A.R.T. of Making a Difference: Awareness to see possibilities, Resourcefulness to put our gifts to work, and Timing to take the next step.

None of us uses exactly the same tools. Mine happen to include brushes. But every community needs people willing to imagine something better and accept the responsibility of creating it.

My thanks to John Martin with Fourth Elm Construction and Andy Harding with BRC CPA Firm for bringing us together. I left encouraged about our economy—and even more encouraged by the people helping shape it.

Sometimes the Best Way to Look Forward is to Look Back

I was headed to Grandfather Mountain Country Club to play golf with fellow members of the North Carolina Golf Panel. This time, I decided to take the long way. Golf would have to share the day with a few mountain overlooks.

The Blue Ridge Parkway rewards that decision. It gently meanders along the mountain peaks, offering views that seem to whisper, “Pull over. Stay awhile.” For me, it has always been an oasis for the soul.

Then I reached Raven Rocks Overlook, and nearly twenty years seemed to disappear.

I remembered another journey, at almost this same time of year, when that view first spoke to me. I set up my painting supplies and, over the next few days, captured a scene that has resonated with many collectors and introduced others to this beautiful place.

This time, I stopped again. That familiar landscape offered three reminders.

Take the road that gives you room to notice
We spend so much of life figuring out how to get somewhere faster. The quickest route. The next appointment. There is a place for efficiency, but some of our richest experiences happen when we leave room for an unexpected stop.

Had I hurried straight to the golf course, I would have missed this reunion with an old inspiration. A little extra time gave me a chance to breathe, look around, and let my thoughts settle.

Return to the places that help you measure your journey
All of us have places that hold a chapter of our lives. A childhood home, a college campus, or a favorite beach can bring back the person we were when we first stood there. What were we hoping for? What worried us? What possibilities had yet to unfold?

At that overlook, I thought about the years between my visits and all that had happened along the way. We rarely notice our growth while we are busy living it. A familiar place can help us appreciate how far we have come.

Let gratitude have a moment of its own
Nearly twenty years ago, I came to that overlook to paint. This time, I simply stood in awe. I could enjoy the beauty before me without reaching for a brush.

I felt blessed by the work I have been able to do and the people who have shared the journey. Above all, I was grateful for the extraordinary gift of life and the opportunity to stand there once again.

Perhaps there is a place calling you back, too. 
When the opportunity comes, go a little out of your way. Give yourself time to remember and appreciate. You may arrive looking at a familiar view and leave seeing your life with fresh eyes.

Your Greatest Advantage May Be What You Do Next

I doubt anyone looking at my first 59-cent tray of watercolors would have seen a career in it. I certainly didn’t. I was an amateur, curious about what might happen if I put a little color on paper.

Years later, I had developed a recognizable style, earned awards, and made my living as a watercolorist. It would have been easy to believe I had found my place and should stay there.

Then again, I’ve never been very good at staying in one place.

Recently, I listened to my friend Dr. Nido Qubein talk about a differential advantage—the quality that allows you to bring something distinctive to the world. His words made me think about my own journey. Painting was my gift, but learning to pursue the possibilities around that gift changed my life.

Master the gift in your hands.
Those early years mattered. I painted constantly, learned from the work that succeeded and the work that didn’t, and developed the consistency that gave people confidence in me. Curiosity can open a door, but dedication is what lets you walk through it.

Look beyond the canvas.
Over time, I began to see that a painting could do more than hang on someone’s wall. It could celebrate a place, bring people together, support a cause, or help someone tell a story. The Honor Card grew from that way of thinking. Art gave me a way to invite others into something much larger than my studio.

Stay willing to begin again.
Today I paint traditional landscapes and contemporary work. I’ve moved from watercolor into acrylics and found fresh ways to share the stories behind my paintings, including from a stage. Each change has asked me to be a beginner in some respect. That can be uncomfortable, especially after you’ve spent years becoming good at something. It can also make you eager to get up in the morning.

I have chased more opportunities than I could have imagined when I opened that little tray of paint. Some led nowhere. Others changed the direction of my career. Following them has kept me learning, meeting new people, and wondering what might be waiting just beyond the horizon.

Perhaps your advantage is a talent you’ve spent years developing. Perhaps it is the way you notice a need, connect people, or see a possibility others have overlooked. Whatever it is, give it your best effort—and then ask where else it might take you.

I’m still asking that question. Nearly fifty years after my first watercolor, it remains one of the most exciting parts of being an artist.

What possibility have you been meaning to explore?