Libby Davis 1948

When I was about ten years old, Miss Lipscomb arrived in our community and attached herself to our family. I don’t know how it happened, but my gregarious father was the pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church in Spartanburg, SC and we often had new people arriving to be part of our lives.

Miss Lipscomb had a flair, dressed in exotic clothes and laughed with gusto. She was an artist and photographer with strange cameras and attachments. She loved taking photos of my sister and me especially when we were unaware of her presence. In my adult years, my mother often said, “I wonder why I allowed all that picture taking without any hesitation!”

As time went on, parents of our young friends saw her work, especially her artwork and suggested that she have an art class for children. This was arranged to take place weekly at our church. It was a small group, and I may have been the most excited of all.

I really wanted to learn to paint like Miss Lipscomb but when I got to the class I was frustrated with myself repeatedly because everything I did appeared to me to be a failure. Finally, Miss Lipscomb said with all good intention, I’m sure, “Well Elizabeth, (I was given the nickname Libby in high school) you have many gifts; maybe this is not one of them.

I was secretly crushed because I loved art and wanted to be able to paint, but after that declaration by this person I so admired, a wall went up and to this day when I walk into any setting where painting is the focus, I become uneasy, freeze up and can’t think of anything to paint.

I have found other ways to fill artistic longings, but I’ve also known from experience, that people especially children, can experience life-changing hurts by the most unintentional remarks.