I'm sure if I tried really hard and quietly delved through the past annals of my life, weeding through the plethora of artists names, books and pieces of art, I could remember the first time I took my prized Crayola crayon to a sheet of notebook paper. It was most assuredly my preferred way of whiling away the hours as opposed to what other girls my age were apparently playing with- dolls; how boring. My creativity would give my mother hours of free time as I slipped into my waxy world. Art has since become my truest way of expressing exactly who I am. I feel unencumbered, free to empty the thoughts in my head onto the canvas, paper, or whatever else is set before me.

I have always felt that I can most successfully communicate my thoughts when I write them down or transform them to some oily image captured on canvas. Feeding my creative nature is music and words written down by others. Attentively listening to all kinds of music and reading books of just as many genres challenges me to communicate my reactions to the art I take in. An inquisitive nature fuels my creativity, and I feel that I could never be fully satiated with all the intricacies of life. There is a strong sense of commitment that is essential in an artist, requiring her to reach an end to her pieces of art. Commitment and loyalty are values that make up the woman I have become. There is an excitement in exploring each day and seeing each project through to the end.

As the hours slipped away years ago, there in my room with my plastic table and Craoyla crayons, they do now in my studio, hands stained with oils and turpentine. I believe this happens when an individual is fortunate enough to find the thing that embodies them and becomes active with it. If he or she is lucky enough to make a living incorporating that which makes her passionate about life, then she will define success.

pencil, Chalk, Acrylic, oil sticks on paper

collage

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