I'm talking about Danny Gregory, a self-taught artist who lives in NYC. Ever read the words of someone else and think, "Wow, that's EXACTLY how I feel, but he said it BETTER than I ever could have, if I had thought to say it at all.." For me, that's Danny.
Some years ago, Danny and his wife were a young, upwardly mobile couple with dynamic careers in NYC. They had just had a baby. Things looked good. The wife was on her way to work when she fell over the edge of the subway station. She. was. run. over. by. a. subway. train. Her spine was severed. She lived, but was paralyzed.I am probably botching the details; Danny says it all really well in his first book, Everyday Matters. Please read it.
She was in the hospital for weeks, maybe months, and Danny was left to care for the baby and try to figure out how they would go on when she came home in the wheelchair. I'm sure it was life-changing for her, but it was he who wrote the book, so I only know his side.
Finally, he began to draw. As an adult. It was his therapy.
Now he has a website and has written books promoting the philosophy that anyone can draw-- you just have to start. And draw. And draw and draw and draw. Now he is friggin' good. I love to draw and aspire to be decent at it one day, so I follow this guy on his website, have most of his books (but I have a birthday coming up! The titles I do not have are "Me Time" and "Change Your Underwear Twice a Week.")
Today by chance I read a post of his that had to do with ambition and accomplishing one's goals. I read it right here at the dawn of a new year, a time when I always think of my "gallon of ambition and my pint glass of life." It was meaningful for me. I am posting an excerpt here and hope that by crediting him -- I'll even post the hyperlink -- this is legal enough.
Here it is. The link is: http://www.dannygregory.com/?cat=28
My grandfather died last winter at 98 so I’m not even half his age yet. Maybe
I’m only approaching the midpoint of my life, or maybe I’ll have massive heart
attack and keel over at my desk this afternoon. There’s no telling. Regardless,
I know each day and hour are precious. But it’s hard to keep the relentless
tsunami of stuff, or responsibilities, of things I want to do, from swiftly
wiping each day off the board before I can even wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
Life moves quickly and the further along the road I get, the faster the pages
fly off the calendar. Knowing this, trying to hold it on my mind, can help me to
prioritize. But it’s still tough to keep the world at bay and to decided how to
spend my time well. Often I lie in bed and think, damn, when am I going to get
to read all those books I want to read or spend more time drawing with Jack or
more time cooking dinner with Patti. When am I going to get to live in
Micronesia or the South of France or in that little house in the meadow? When
will I get to spend two hours a day at the gym or four hours a day doing oil
paintings or six hours a day reading Proust? When will I learn Italian? Learn to
drive a motorcycle? Defend my heavyweight boxing title? I’m not filled with
regret because I somehow feel I will get to do these things. I’m just not sure
how or when. Perhaps my appetite is just larger than my calendar. Fortunately I
am often insomniac so I get to spend 3 to 4 a.m. thinking about stuff I didn’t
fit in during the day (most of it actually just anxious nonsense). Anyway, this
consideration of my gallon of ambition and my pint glass of life set me on the
way to a new project. It’s something I’ve mulled over for a while and finally
out into action. It’s an effort to really think about the things I wished I
could have fit into a day and then an attempt to fit one of them into the next
day.
