"Inspiring Dreams: Where Art Meets Architecture!"

People often ask me,

• “Did you always know you wanted to be an artist?”
• “Were you born with the ability to paint?”
• “Did you go to a special school to learn?”

I can’t speak for other artists, but I can tell you my story.

Early Artistic Beginnings (or Lack Thereof)

As a child, “art” was something we got to do in school on Fridays - if we finished our work and behaved all week. It was more about following instructions than actual creativity, but that didn’t stop me from trying to turn every simple craft project into a masterpiece. Unfortunately, following instructions wasn’t exactly my strong suit, so recognition for my work was… limited.

I found my real creative outlet at home, where there were no strict guidelines or authority figures hovering over me. I would sketch with whatever pen or pencil I could find and color with the crayons or colored pencils I received as holiday gifts. On special occasions, I’d get one of those watercolor kits with a coloring book - a prized possession! Since art supplies were limited, I was careful about how many pages I used, savoring them like treasures.

My creativity wasn’t limited to paper. I designed and colored outfits for my paper dolls, and eventually, I started making the dolls themselves. My older brother was even impressed when I crafted miniature storefronts for his Matchbox car shopping center - complete with a grocery store, bookshop, pet store, and toy store. Looking back, I was always designing something!

The High School Dilemma

When I reached high school, I desperately wanted to take an art class. I had heard rumors about “Fine Art,” though I wasn’t exactly sure what made it fine. What I did know was that students in those classes weren’t just gluing cloves into oranges or cutting up egg cartons - they were creating real drawings and paintings.

I befriended an art student and tried to get details about what went on in that mysterious classroom, but she remained frustratingly vague. To this day, I still don’t know what they learned in those classes.

Unfortunately, my parents made it clear that I wasn’t taking art. Instead, I was required to focus on “practical” subjects that would supposedly serve me better in life. Apparently, art wasn’t one of them.

A Creative Career… Almost

After high school, I became a licensed cosmetologist. Finally, I was able to work with color - and I took to it like a fish to water! I learned about color theory, geometric shapes for cutting hair, and how to create styles that transformed people’s appearances. I loved it.

Unfortunately, no one warned me that the reality of the job involved starting as an assistant, making minimum wage, and spending 50-hour workweeks washing other stylists’ clients’ hair, sweeping floors, and cleaning endless bottles and perm rods. After a year, I had to move on.

To this day, I tip my hairstylist very well.

The Art Calling Returns

Years passed. I worked in the corporate world, raised my kids, and art took a backseat. But it never fully left me.

When my kids were in school, I found myself volunteering for any art-related task I could: cutting out templates, assisting with class projects, and even teaching a few art lessons. (Okay, maybe I occasionally took over my own kids’ art assignments, but let’s keep that between us.)

As they got older, I inquired about painting backdrops for their theater productions - only to be told that no one was running the productions at all. Somehow, I ended up leading two full theater productions. But that’s a story for another day.

Rediscovering Art Through a Simple Gift

Once my kids were old enough to drive themselves around, I suddenly had time on my hands. I was going through a difficult period - feeling lost, navigating a divorce, and adjusting to living on my own in an apartment.

Then one day, my parents gave me an art kit.

It sat on my counter for a while. I’d glance at it occasionally, thinking, I’ll get to it someday. Weeks passed before I finally decided to open it.

Inside was a set of small paints, a plastic sleeve with five brushes, and a beautiful instruction booklet filled with perfect, colorful flowers. Each page had arrows and step-by-step directions showing exactly how to paint them.

It looked easy…

It was not easy…

My first attempts were… well, let’s just say they were not the stunning flowers pictured in the book. I was frustrated. This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to make me feel better. Instead, I felt robbed - like I had been tricked into thinking this was going to be simple.

But for some reason, I kept going. Maybe I wanted to prove something to myself. Maybe I wanted to prove something to my parents - that I should have been allowed to take those art classes all those years ago.

And slowly, my paintings improved.

Finding My Passion in Architecture

As I kept practicing, I found myself drawn to architecture. The structure, the precision, the challenge of recreating buildings with paint - I pursued it like I was literally building them with real mortar and blocks.

Painting became my passion. My obsession. My peace.

Final Thoughts

My journey to becoming an artist wasn’t exactly straightforward. I wasn’t born with a paintbrush in my hand, and I certainly didn’t attend an elite art school. But the need to create has always been there, woven into different parts of my life - sometimes in obvious ways, other times hidden beneath “practical” pursuits.

Now, painting is a part of who I am. And I hope I can keep up with the many challenges it throws my way.

If you’ve ever felt drawn to something creative but weren’t encouraged to pursue it, I hope my story reminds you: it’s never too late.