My brother from the same mother

As you read this I may be visiting, one or both of
my brothers. My parents seemed to have their
family of four in two parts. For most of my
childhood I was paired with my brother Andy,
because we were the two youngest. We shared
among other things, a bedroom until I was
eight, a wicked sense of humour, and an
a passion for all things artistic.

Andrew is a Renaissance man. He is skilled
in many directions. A fine writer, he is
currently finishing up a novel. But he's been
a Cable TV host of an art show, and in an
earlier life before the birth of his daughter
Chloé, he was an installation artist. He
worked with his then girlfriend to put
up huge public art projects with mutiple slide
projectors and weird objects to bounce
images from -- some made of lucite and
baked, probably at great risk to the
household, in his own oven.

Andrew Muir
sketch of interior with Clown Cat Pillow
pen on bond paper

He also inherited my Dad's eye, and could
turn out a great photo with ease. What is
less well known is that he is also a great
visual artist, in painting and drawing.

I know that I am fairly conventional in
my subject matter, but Andrew is not.
His mind is completely unique.

I'm including a little drawing from one
of his old sketchbooks which includes
a cat pillow I made for him one year.
For a while I made cat pillows of the
cats in my life, embroidering them, and
capturing the odd personalities of the
animals who lived with my family members.
Clown cat was mine, and I made quite a few
pillows in her image. One of them is still
in our house, a large canvas, corduroy-backed
affair, made with black ink painted on canvas,
with embroidered eyes and mouth.

Have a seeing-the-artist-in-you day.