As the daughter of a painter, there hasn't been a moment in my life in which art hasn't been vital.
When I was little, I watched my mother take on any commission she could get her hands on in order to provide for our family---from murals, to portraits, to furniture. At a time when there was no one else to help us, art was there to offer a means of survival. But nearly as precious were the hope and wonder that were inspired in me: by the time I began picking up brushes of my own, art had become an anchor in stormy seas---a lifeboat in those moments when the ship capsized entirely.
Art has woven through my life like a bright strand of silk, twining together broken threads and weaving them into something so much richer than the sum of its parts.
There has never seemed to be any greater possible magic to me than to pick up a brush or a pencil and create a world on a piece of paper---and to share it with other people. In my art, my greatest goal is to recreate that sense of wonder I felt as a little child, when I gazed in awe at the beautifully-illustrated pages of my favorite picture books, or the drawings in my mother's portfolio. I'm not quite there yet.
But I also believe that art is more a journey than a destination.
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