I was born and raised in Los Angeles, California, where I began drawing at an early age. I was encouraged by my grade school and high school art teachers to pursue my interest in the arts. I left southern California for the San Francisco Bay Area, when I was eighteen, and attended The California College of the Arts, where I graduated with a BFA in 1984. Upon leaving Art School, I was confronted with the financial demands of making a living, and after working a string of non-art related jobs, I eventually landed back in southern California, where I found full time employment as a scene painter in Hollywood, painting sets, and backdrops for film and television. Los Angeles had little appeal for me, though, and I returned once again to the Bay area, where I was hired by the University of California at Berkeley, as the scenic artist for the Theater program. While there, I met Patricia, a kindred spirit, fellow artist, and "soul mate". We were married in 2002, and three years later, we relocated to Missoula Montana, where we happily continue to pursue our interests in a vital and supportive art community.
Tim T. Thornton
2011
I was an unruly child. Or maybe I was just stuck with that reputation - deservedly or not. This could have had something to do with an incident that happened one Sunday morning a long time ago. I was a three year old in family of good church-going Catholics, which meant that every Sunday without fail, you'd find us at Mass, sitting in one of the front pews of the church. On this particular Sunday though, my dad and brother were away, and my mom had the sole burden of dragging an unruly, and unwilling child to church by herself - a thankless task.
The priest had just commenced his sermon. I had no interest in being there, and I was growing restless. The Catholic Mass confused my three year old sensibilities, and I found it profoundly boring. My mom had tried in vain to keep me in line, and finally, in a last desperate bid - a "Hail Mary" - so to speak, she rummaged through her purse, eventually coming up with pencil and paper, which she then prophetically placed in my hands, and encouraged me to draw. It was a defining moment for me. For her, it was only temporary salvation.
I remember sitting in that pew, scrawling away at a drawing of an immense battlefield scene. ( The inspiration, I suspect , came from the
WW II movie, " The Longest Day" with John Wayne, which ambitiously depicts the events of D-Day, and the allied effort at Normandy. in 1944. My brother and I had recently seen it on t.v. ).
My rendering of the invasion was reaching its culmination, and my mom's ploy had been successful. My drawing was now complete and I saw that it was a good thing. Yet, there was still some element missing. It suddenly dawned on me that what was so desperately needed, what the situation cried out for, was the requisite sound effects, which I then enthusiastically inserted during a pause in the pastor's sermon, replete with machine-gun fire, hand grenades, mortars, dive bombers, etc., much to the distraction of the priest, the amusement of the congregation, and the embarrassment of my poor mother. Sorry Mom. The seeds were sown. Art won out over religion as my central preoccupation.
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