As a young girl, I didn’t spend much time with people. It wasn't that I disliked people, I was just timid and appreciated the world differently than others. Much of my time was consumed with my own imagination as my backdrop using color to express emotions and depicting my surroundings.
Everywhere I traveled, I was accompanied by various colors, textures, lights, darks, hues, and tints. Leaves from the tree would fight for my attention and signal me to see their individual colors and grains. Puddles from the rain showed silhouettes of my pale face and curious eyes. And the sky would shield me like an umbrella protecting me from the sun rays but unassuming enough that I could see the pattern of the clouds. Yes, there is where I found peace.
There were periods as a young girl that I spent on the concrete porch on the southside of Chicago, gazing at the cars slowing going by. I imagined the cars were toys similar to those my younger brother played with. As each car passed by, I would often change the make, model, and color of the automobile in my head. The kids in the neighborhood would summons me to play dodge ball or jump rope, but all I wanted to do was create art. Soon the images I often envisioned in my head would appear on my drawing pad and then on canvas. Then the magic began.
I recall sitting in school and reading assigned stories in class. As I pronounced each letter of the word in the story, the characters took life right in front of my eyes. I often wondered if anyone else saw them, but I remained silenced in my own thoughts. The more I read, the more I learned, the more I saw until the words stopped speaking to me and all I saw were images. No one around me understood the beauty of things that surrounded us. I tried to explain it, but no words existed. So, I had to paint it. If you look up at the sky, what do you see? I see angels dancing about, horses galloping to and from; blues, greens, whites, tans, purples, oranges, and reds. I see colors in places no one looks. I see stories in coffee shops, park benches, even in an empty chair. I see textures that grab me and compels me to reach out my hand to touch it. Art is everywhere our eyes focus and it’s in every conversation. You just have to pay attention. The stories I read and continue to read-only take me so far until art picks up where the words leave off.
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