I was the kid who always had paper in front of her and crayons in her hand.
I was the kid who doodled all over the TV Guide, tracing the letters and drawing pictures on it.
I was the girl who loved to take the junk mail and scrap paper to keep as a stash to write and draw on.
I was the girl who drew Tippy from my parents’ matchbooks and mailed it in, hoping to be recognized.
I was the girl who took the weekly challenge from the newspaper and drew a picture from a squiggle, hoping to win the prize.
I was the teen who finally found an art teacher who took an interest in teaching her how to draw and had talent from which I could learn.
I was the teen who wanted to go to art school, but whose practical parents talked into getting a business degree.
I was the mom who, after 15 years picked up a pencil and started to sketch her infant daughter, but left the sketch unfinished.
I was the woman who, feeling unfulfilled in her corporate job, started a side business to unleash the creativity that was screaming to be freed.
I am the woman who, after 30 years has decided to re-introduce herself to her first love, and have an affair of a lifetime.
I am an artist.