Aim for the Stars, You may reach the Moon.

What have you always wanted to do but was a chicken when it came to making it happen?

Ever since I was little I have wanted to be a “real” children’s book illustrator and author (the author part I never had faith in…if you read one of my early writings you can see why.) Lately I’ve pivoted and dream of selling my art - both originals and licensing. When I was young I wondered who painted the designs on sheets and dinnerware and how they got that job.

I think I was born with a crayon in my hand. Mice, bunnies, squirrels and monkeys -inspired by Brambly Hedge, Beatrix Potter, Pippa Mouse, Squirrel Nutkin, and Curious George books - ran across the pages of my sketchbooks. I even won a newspaper coloring contest in the tots category! I gloated over my prize - a huge Easter basket full of candy, something my health conscious mom never bought.

One of my dad’s colleagues - the art supervisor for the county schools- gifted me with a box full of art supplies. I tucked it away under my bed each night to ensure burglars wouldn’t carry it off unawares. I still guard my art supplies - this time, from my kids. They know better than to open my glass door cabinet of goodies. Don’t worry - they have plenty of their own.

Fast forward to the end of high school. When it came time to select a major I chose interior design. There were no schools in my vicinity which had an illustration major. Sure, there was SCAD - I would have to take out loans, and RISD - it was too far from home. Was that a mistake? Maybe. I had dumbly turned down a full 4 year academic scholarship to a specific college- all because I hadn’t made up my mind what to major in, and as penance I vowed to make college as cheap as possible. I ended up going to that very same college and had to pay. Life is like that.

Everyone thought I would major in piano. You see, my mom was a piano teacher, her mom was a piano teacher, and her mom was a piano teacher (my mom, grandmother, and great-grandmother). Don’t tell anyone, but even though I won contests and played concertos with symphonies, I was an imposter. I made my teacher play the music first because I was too lazy to learn how to read music properly. Hearing it helped me play the difficult rhythms. When my teacher introduced me to concertos I perked up. They were fun. Really fun. I love dramatic music and love using emotions to create mist and thunderstorms and everything in between as a feast to my ears. But having to practice? Ick. I set a timer on the piano lid and got up from the bench the moment it rang. Not one second later. Today I’m not sure I can even remember how to play chopsticks.

At school, one teacher saw my interest in illustration and took me aside. Normally we used alcohol markers and colored pencils, but he taught me how to use watercolors to create some moody interiors. He was a saint. Add to this a class on perspective (groan), plus History of Design (amazing), and I graduated with the ability to draw interiors (and some other skills as well, though what I cared about was the illustration bit). Next I got a job working for an architect at Seaside, FL, where I learned computer drafting and enjoyed helping clients with their gorgeous multicolored beach houses.

Back to school I went, this time to get a masters in interior design, and ended up with a physicist husband. I wanted a 35mm camera, and took a short-term job at the High Magnetic Field Laboratory - sketching what their research room would look like with gigantic superconductor magnet placed just so. It was a fine place, but not for one such as me whose brain operates mostly on the right side. After one luncheon discussing the average rainful in the Amazon rainforest, the atomic properties of blitheronium, and how to transform plastic blobs into technical wonders, I found myself speechless. That is - mouth shut, only listening lest I be labeled an outsider. I met my man and got out of there, camera in tow. Surprisingly there were art-minded folk there, making ties - yes, suit ties, out of the wild kaleidoscope microscope images of various organic and inorganic materials. All is not lost. Scientists are a rare breed but they like really do like art and artists. I know because I married one.

Maybe an actual conversation:

What’s that on your tie?

Oh, this? I’m wearing the dyed nano particles of superlium magnified at N to the 9th power.

Really, well I’m wearing plutonium *separated into prismal rays by chemical dispersion.

Ahhhh. I thought so.

*Note: This is my translation of their scientific mumbo-jumbo with a huge bit of artistic license thrown in to boot.

Anyways, by genius husband and I have been raising six children, which is not for the faint of heart. I turned it into a fun challenge, and thoroughly enjoy being Mom - except for when thunderclouds are brewing on the homefront, and then I eat chocolate, chips and dip, and wedges of cheese and come out feeling wider but better. That kind of wisdom comes with age.

Now that my kids are much older I am reveling in drawing, painting, and chasing my old dreams of making art that means something to someone other than me and my own walls. At least that’s my hope. Honestly I don’t need anyone’s approval. I make art because it’s inside and just has to come out. But sharing art just feels better.

If you want to follow me on my journey, then read along with me in this space. I can’t promise you I won’t be windy, or go on rabbit trails, but I can promise you the common thread will be a love for art. It’s mutual if you’ve gotten this far.

Pick up a pencil and scribble what you drew when you were five. Go on. Do it now.