The Work of Lifetimes
My mother was summoned. I had set up a table for finger painting and when told that it wasn't on the schedule announced, "Well, I am finger painting." I was in kindergarten. My life as an artist goes uphill, downhill, and sometimes in concentric circles from there.
Formal art lessons began when I was in fourth grade. My mother thought oil painting would be a good medium to learn. I would eventually explore this and so much more during therapy sessions. Yes, I was the kid who wandered through high school with a sketchbook, calliagraphing chemistry class lab notes, almost always ending up in charge of decorations.
My artwork hung in juried shows for kids and teens. I attended (what was then-known as) Carnegie Tech for their pre-college art program. I studied art, design, and typography at Rochester Institute of Technology until a major meltdown led to dropping out. I worked in a design studio, got laid off, and went back to school, graduating with a Sociology degree.
My hiatus from art work lasts 40 years. I do lots of other things.
A few months before the 2016 presidential election, I took mosaic classes, never suspecting they'd reopen a door I'd slammed shut. The Restoration of Self began.
Creating art, I discover, is still the best way for me to explore identity as well as spiritual life. I've rediscovered how art communicates when words are insufficient. My artwork is a mash-up of spiritual experiences expressed in symbols, colors, shapes, and mixed media. More is always revealed during the creative process and continues even after I declare a piece complete.