Marian Henley

As a toddler, my first sketch pad was everything everywhere: The house. The walls. The baseboards. The sidewalk. My materials? Pancake batter. My mother’s red Revlon lipstick. Chunks of limestone from the creek bed. Rather than scold me, as most parents would, my mother gave me a giant box of Crayola crayons and taped butcher paper from the top of the stairs to the bottom so I could sit on the stairs, moving from one to another, and draw all day long. Since then, drawing all over the place has kept me pretty happy, and and I’ve never come up with any solid reason to stop.