My Art Journey Part 1: Early Years

Every artist I have ever encountered has an origin story that starts like this, “From a very young age I always loved creating things…”.

Well, didn’t we all?

Maybe not, I can’t say for sure. I do know that in between the child who loved to create and the adult who is willing to call themselves an artist, are a lot of obstacles, mostly in the form of people who say things like, “Are you sure…?”, “What about…?”, “Have you considered…?”

I had a lot of stories in my head too. As a kid growing up in the 90s and early 2000s, we were sold the idea of a ‘career’ and we were really sold the idea of stability. We were told, and we believed, if you follow the right path, do the right things, you’ll have the house, the lawn, the kids, the retirement savings. So, hordes of us followed the right paths and we are learning now what a load of **** that was.

The other thing was, I liked science. I didn’t just think, “I like art but that isn’t practical so what is the next best thing?” I had two passions. And, turns out another thing we were sold on is the idea that you need to have one passion, and they usually tried to convince us that our career needed to include, or at least overlap with, our One Great Passion. Then we’d HAVE IT ALL! I swear they made us complete a different career evaluation every year. It always focused on putting us into a career box that suited us so perfectly that it would fulfill our every need in life. I distinctly remember my horror when one questionnaire concluded my top career path was Chimney Sweep. Likely because I answered I’d enjoy working outdoors and wouldn’t mind getting dirty. I always hoped I’d get to be some sort of outdoor explorer with those answers, but evidently Chimney Sweep was a better match.

So, all through my youth I carried both, art and science. I carried them in two different hands and kept them as separate as possible. I never assumed the art would provide for me in abundance, likely due to the role models I had and the stories society tells. I hoped it would always be a hobby I could enjoy. And always, I wished for more time to devote to it.

At the age of 12, my dad, who was always my #1 fan, signed me up for weekly art classes with a friend of his. They were classes for adults b ut he convinced her I’d be worth having. So, each Wednesday evening that I wasn’t busy with a cross country meet or homework, I joined a lovely group of mostly retired women and painted for a few hours. We painted whatever we wanted as our teacher floated around and gave suggestions, we chatted, the ladies were wonderful cheerleaders for a budding artist. I continued to go, with inconsistent frequency, until the end of high school.

Me and the gang at a group show we had together.

I was lucky to be the third child and by the time I started high school, my mom had figured out how to help me game the system. She advocated for me to skip the useless social studies classes taught by football coaches that most 9th graders slacked their way through, so that I’d have space to take an extra elective (art) and double up on science classes some years. I was a huge nerd. I couldn’t get enough art or biology. The final semester of my senior year I enrolled in an independent study in oil painting, and was able to devote time to a more consistent art practice than I ever had before. I was painting 1 hour, 5 days a week. It was heaven! It was the first time I’d worked on more than one piece at a time because oil paint takes days to dry.

During these early years I painted representationally. I gravitated toward animals, landscapes and flowers. I painted exactly one building and vowed to never again. I painted exactly one portrait (well one painting with 3 faces, ugh) and vowed to never again. I wanted to make exact copies of photographs, and I learned a lot through this practice. I never saw my art as having a deeper meaning. I just liked the act of doing it and the pride in the outcome. I struggled immensely when my independent study instructor required me to keep a daily journal. I never had any ‘feelings’ about my art, so I just wrote, “I worked on Daisy’s ear today…”

This is about the limit of my self-reflection back in those days…

That teacher was the first person to suggest I bring together my love of science and my love of art. She suggested a scientific illustration as a potential career path. (Again, that obsession with Career Path). That sounded boring to me. So off I went to college for science-y stuff and my world was opened up to possibilities and I saw myself, out in the mud and rain and among the bugs, not as a Chimney Sweep but as a Primatologist! Yes, Jane Goodall was a hero to me in those years. I worked hard toward that dream, of studying wild primates. I got there and it was every bit as incredible as I’d hoped it would be. All along the way I kept my art going in the background, but extremely neglected.

For years I let myself neglect my art, as I waited for the universe to conjure up “more time” for it. Then in 2019, I experienced pain and grief and was forced to pivot in a way that finally changed my perspective and turned my art practice into a non-negotiable part of my self-care. That is where we begin for part 2…