Art comes from somewhere rooted within or so it has always seemed to me. An instinct much like breathing. The act of creation is inherent with being human. I had always been creating something. Doodles, a painting here 0r there. Set design with local theatres. I knitted and sewed, skills long honed. But it was the death of a 7 year old son that pushed me deep inside and had me reinventing myself. I reinvented myself as a mother of three instead of four.

I had to find myself or drown in the grief

Art had always been a passion.

Ah, I’ll try that.

Returning to school helped.

We managed our way through. My family somewhat intact. We survived.

Eight years later with an mfa in mixed media, my family of three grown, I had to reinvent myself again.

I continued to create. It was my way of seeing the world, seeing glimmers of answers to questions that live deep within us all. I found a sense of calm if not peace. With each new incarnation of what it meant to be me, art or creation remains my way of connecting.

Creating is as essential to me as my heart beat, as breathing.