I distinctly remember the day I found out that not every dad was an artist and more importantly, that not every kid had to sit still for a couple of hours most days. Who knew?! My parents were very wise in training my siblings and I how to model from a very young age. The oldest painting I’ve seen of myself was done when I could still take a bath in the kitchen sink. The combination of us being homeschooled, dad working from home, and us living way out in the country meant that my dad really did not have many prospects lining up to pose for him but instead had three rugrats who could always be bribed by chocolate or an extra dollar or two. Looking back, it was a win-win. We would typically pose for a couple of hours each day, depending on the weather, with many breaks. 

The first large painting my dad did of me was my portrait, at age four. I had already watched both my brother and sister have theirs painted and I remember feeling pretty cool that it was now my turn…that wore off after the first day. After trying on endless outfits and getting into different poses, no composition was jumping out at my dad, so I finally sat down on the model stool with an armful of the outfits and a really bad attitude. “STOP…do not move, that’s it!” The good news was I was sitting slouched (comfortable pose), the bad news, I was in my underwear in between outfits – how embarrassing, but hey, it could be worse I thought. Until the local news station asked to come by and film a segment of Jeffrey T. Larson at work. I remember trying to whisper-yell at my dad in the other room from the news-cast that I would not be seen on public television in my UNDERWEAR. That must have been the first time my dad realized he had to start incorporating some sort of incentive – a bag of chocolate kisses, one a day, easily made it all worth it. Eventually we realized our value and demanded a raise – cash and a trip to the LEGO store at the end of the summer. 

The morning light was usually best around 7am in the summertime, perfect for painting at the clothesline. Thankfully my mom would take this “first shift” and us kids would join them in the backyard as soon as we woke up. You had to be careful not to spend too much time out there or dad might incorporate you into the painting and before you knew it you were a part of first shift crew too. The only perks of the morning paintings were when dad acknowledged he was cutting into our AM cartoons and would jerry-rig our little VHS player with multiple extension cords out to the field we were posing in. This was also the time we were introduced to spitting sunflower seeds – as long as dad was painting our profile, we were able to stuff our hidden cheek with sunflower seeds and keep occupied by snacking.

In the summers my dad would try and schedule the afternoons at the beach once the sun got hot. We lived just a couple of miles from the beautiful, sandy, private beaches on the south shore of Lake Superior. My mom would always pack a cooler of hot dogs and snacks, my dad would bring aesthetically pleasing picnic blankets, and us kids would fight over who was getting paid to lounge and be fed snacks on the beach. 

There were other unique aspects of being an artist family as well – like sleepovers. As normal as having an artist for a dad was for me, it was unusual for every one of my friends. I remember countless times having sleepovers in our living room that looked more like a museum/gallery trying to console my friends that the portraits staring at them all night were really not that creepy. Some of them, despite my endless warnings and attempts at changing their mind, even asked to be painted during our playdates – are you kidding me?! 

Beyond the funny stuff, being an “artist family” instead of my dad simply being an artist really did have its perks. We were a team in so many ways. Before his big one-man shows, we would have invitation stuffing nights where we each had a role – one kid stuffed the envelope, one kid licked the envelope, and one kid applied the stamp – and were involved in as many of the small tasks as possible. Not because it made my parents load much lighter, if anything the time it took to explain things only lengthened the process, but as a result my siblings and I saw the fruits of labor and learned why my parents did what they did.  

Learning to sit still as a kid taught me that whether I have a bad attitude or not, it won’t change my circumstances so I might as well have a good one and enjoy the moment. It taught me endurance, both mentally and physically and I think was the beginning step in growing a work ethic. So if you have the excuse to force a kid to sit still and are creative enough to execute it, I really do think it ends up being a win-win (and one day, a loooong time from now they may realize that too).