The earliest moment I realized I was creative was while sitting on my mother's lap when I was 4. We were watching t.v. but I was doing something else. I used my finger to trace every object in the room and all it's detail. She asked me what I was doing. I replied, 'I'm drawing.'

 

My earlier years I drew what I saw. Complete realism. I drew portraits, animals, crushed cans and still lives. I painted houses and illustrated full compositions of athletic teams. I excelled in art through grade school. But I was bored. Often I would abandon the illustrations once I knew 'I had it'.  It was unfulfilling. Then something changed me.

 

During my sophomore year of high school, I lost my brother to suicide. I illustrated and painted grim bloody compositions. Death, weapons and blood were the theme. I began to change, all the while being recognized with accolades and awards that I was an artist, there was only 1 day however, 1 moment much later I realized I was one.

 

My 1st Art History class in a community college, I studied the masters. I was struck most profoundly by Pablo Picasso. 1 day after class, I shyly walked down to the professor and confessed that I was embarrassed. All my life I called myself an artist. Her reply,'You've just become one.'  I began to study Picasso's sketch books and picked up every book I could find. I was more particularly intrigued by his 1-liners. How fluid, controlled and confident. I began to emulate him. Have my go at 1-liners and I held my own. It became uncanny and humurous to me and my friends. How I could capture their essence by blindly contuouring them with just 1 line. I was held in high regard, but again, I became bored.

 

Until now.