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interesting and good things turned up in that, but of course also a perfect collection of horrors and idiotic things. Anybody was free to bring his picture. It would be hung. There was no jury. You could hang it, put your name on it and sell it if anybody wanted it. Some very nice things came out of this.

That really revealed to people who liked art how many people there were in the world who wanted to paint, who liked to paint, who earned their living working in a factory, as a bookkeeper, as a housewife or something else, but who liked to paint. They all brought their paintings and hung them up at this show. I suppose it was about then that people began to be more or less Sunday painters. S. Weir Mitchell, the novelist, confessed about that time that he'd always been a Sunday painter. He didn't regard himself as a professional artist. He was a doctor and a writer.

I'd always painted a little. What started me painting more was that my child was growing up and she had definite tendencies toward painting. At two years old I put a box of crayons and a piece of paper in her hand to keep her quiet and she drew pictures. It interested her to draw pictures. It interested me that she would draw and that you would always keep her quiet when there was company or on a train by giving her a pad and a box of crayons - you heard no more from her. She