The Artist in Me

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." ~Pablo Picasso

I've labeled myself, for a long time, as a non-artsy person. I took great pains to avoid art class in high school and college because I "couldn't draw" and that meant I wouldn't get an A. (Chuckle appropriate, for those who know me.) Yet I surround myself with creative people. And, when I look deeply, I find that I have long used art as a way to connect with myself, to be playful, to share with others, and even to heal.

When I was 13, I lost my father to cancer. It was a traumatic experience. Not long after his death, I wrote a short story about a girl. I gave her the fictional name of Jessica. She, too, had lost her father. I don't think I ever showed the story to anyone. I don't even know where the story is. But I remember, so deeply, how important it was for me to express myself in this form. Putting my loss and fear in story form allowed my young self to assess things a little more objectively. And, if I recall, I gave her hope for a happy life. The tears run down my face as I type this.

Over the past few years, I've been learning that I can make art and that it still is very powerful, in so many ways. I love to take photos. I love to write. I am learning to sew. I want to explore mixed media collage...and so much more.

I've recently been absorbed in the bookTaking Flight by Kelly Rae Roberts (a fellow blogger). I'll write more on this later, but let me say that the book is bringing to consciousness some deep longings to give my creative life more attention. So, thank you Kelly Rae!

And thank you to all of my creative friends who inspire me daily! First, to the DH, a life's artist. To my friends who make art with gardens and food and words and cloth and glass and paint and dance and beads and music and photos and clay and papers and traditional arts and so much more, thank you.