BLOG 1: From a Morsel to a Munchkin

My "Life's Journey Through Art" about sums it up. After starting a personal blog several months ago, I knew at some point I would create an art blog. Here I am.

I am still working on what the content will include. I am sure much of the focus will evolve as I go. Either way, I hope there will be aspects that are of interest to non-artists, maybe especially non-artists. So allow me to cover just a bit of those early years where creativity sought an outlet and a path that led me on a lifetime pursuit immersed in art.

Crayons and a coloring book gave way to bigger boxes of crayons, and eventually paint and canvases. As a child I didn't know I was an artist yet. I didn't know what an artist was. I was driven to build and create. I began to resent the lines in my coloring book. I wanted more crayon colors. I often saw and remembered things based on their color, and still do today.  In early morning hours I would stare at the ceiling that had been sloppily painted near the edges, looking for shapes and objects. Clouds always were a fascination and I saw so many wonderful images in their structures. I liked make believe. 

I liked to play teacher. My desk was the ironing board. I would draw with the mustard and ketchup containers filled with water on the sidewalk. I played piano. I liked to dance.  I liked acting and had some pretty tough roles as a mid-teen.  Looking back, the creative drive was there way before I had acquired other more sophisticated tools of expression and communication. 

My teachers at an early age were dressed in black and white gowns and I found them puzzling. We wore uniforms and looked alike except for my hair.  My mom insisted that my hair had been curly at one time and she continually tried to bring it back with 3 hour Tony home perms.  Yikes.  

My mind drifted a lot in class, as I distracted by the visual details of my environment.  No one had labels for that then.  I envied everyone else that wore saddle oxfords in grade school with white socks. I wore Buster Browns, and they didn't work with white socks. That's okay. I was beginning to sense that something about me was different. And it had nothing to do with shoes. It would take several more years, like 10 though, before I could put all the fragments together into a meaningful direction called a future.