I don't remember the great grandmother I'm named for, but I always keep a picture of her and my infant self framed in my room. When I was old enough to comprehend and she had already passed years prior, my family would regal me with stories of what a marvelous painter she had been. No one had expected I would take not only her name, but her talent. After showing interest in the arts my mom signed me up for painting classes. I must've only been 5 or 6 as this was before my mother remarried and we moved. I can vividly recall the exactly little studio room I would take the torn out pictures of flowers and fairies that I found in books and magazines to take with me to paint. I painted without fear of judgement, without disappointment in my finished product, and without the goal of approval. It was pure creative freedom and love.
For most of my education the only class I ever looked forward to was art class. I loved all of my teachers, most of the time they were more than excited to have at least one student who actually was interested in the projects they'd propose. The older I'd get the more each teacher would push me to rise and meet my talent. To try different materials and subjects, to scrape a work and start fresh, to post it publicly for everyone to see.
By high school I had several pieces entered in school shows and won maybe ribbons, which didn't really mean anything to anyone but myself. Just walking up to a piece I spent weeks laboring over to notice a shiny blue ribbon stuck to the bottom by my name was enough to make my heart burst. Acknowledgment for something you've made that you love dearly is so much more satisfying than I can explain.
The encouragement pushed me all the way to Moore College of Art and Design in Philadelphia, an all woman's private art school in my favorite place that I had always dreamt of attending. I finally felt surrounded by my people and I felt at home. Waking up on a chilly weekday morning in November to stop in the cafeteria for a coffee before making it upstairs to the huge studios with dozens of easels was my absolute favorite. Plastering my piece up on the blank white walls along with my classmates to honestly critique each other's work was so terrifying and gratifying. I'd never felt so at home and inspired all my life.
I never got to finish my degree there because it became incredibly expensive and it still kills me. But I realized I don't need a degree to do what I love. I still draw and paint and create in any way I can. I've loved it and I always will.
