I didn’t pick my paintbrush until I was 35. Before that I didn’t have any positive experiences with art growing up, so for years, I held the story that I just wasn’t any good at art.
Somewhere in the midst of a traumatic childhood, I fell in love with writing and learned to paint pictures with words. For years, I found comfort in writing. I never knew that there was an artist within me who was waiting to be born. It all started in 2008 when I took my first art class. It was a healing art class.
There I found my inner desire to create pretty paintings and pretty faces and instead of scoffing at the idea, I sat in awe and believed just enough to begin. I found a desire to create pretty things, to paint pretty pictures and to create beauty in some way.
I was hooked in Color and paints and how they moved. I was hooked with all the supplies a girl could play with. I loved the feeling of losing myself on the page or canvas in a way I had never lost myself before.
I was influenced by some amazing artists but by the Third year, my art started becoming more recognizable as mine. As time passed by, I was constantly painting and experimenting on a regular basis, ultimately I started to find myself as an artist.