AN ARTIST

I remember as a child wanting to be an artist. We lived behind my aunt, uncle and cousins. In those days everyone was older than me. My cousins would draw. I so admired their work. Even my sister seemed to be so much better than me. I never seemed to match up to anyone I knew but I still had a burning desire to be an artist. When I went to college I decided to major in fine art. My advisor tried to discourage me. He said I had never had an art class and I would be competing against people who were already much better than I could ever hope to become. So began my college career.

I loved art and because of my love I progressed quickly. After two years of art I became a mother. What a life changing experience. I had so little time to devote to what I loved. Cloth diapers and a lack of a clothes dryer kept me rather busy. My artist oils had to be put on a top shelf and my easel was put in the garage. Art became something I did when my child naped.

One day my preschool son and his friend climbed up on a chair and got down my oil paints. They had a wonderful time painting my grandmothers hand pieced and quilted blanket. How this broke my heart. I decided that day to stop doing art. I couldn’t be a good mother and an artist, I concluded.

Recently I have started doing art again. What a joy. My skills are rusty but are coming back slowly. I have decided that most of my abilities are inborn. I can see colors in a way that others cannot. I understand why a picture is successful and why it fails. I love talking to Kent about my thoughts and he loves my input into his photographs.

I have had a lot of goals in life. Being an artist is not unrealistic. It’s time to create new art for my home and life.