For as long as I can remember I’ve loved painting. My parents set up a little wooden easel for me in the laundry room - a dedicated art studio next to the washing machine. I do have a distinct memory, however, of getting paint on my hands and not liking that one bit! My hands must remain clean! Which I still feel the same today.

After art school I got busy with career, and life, and somehow left painting behind. As if I put that part of myself in a small steel box, and hid it behind some boxes. I stopped making art for about 10 years. If I look back on that time, dig a little deeper, I can see it was also my inner critic that got the best of me. That voice started to wear me down, and I lost that laundry room artist self that loved making art because it was fun. 

To my surprise, during the 2020 pandemic lockdown, I turned to painting as a source of comfort. I started working on copies of old 1920’s paintings from Laguna Beach, my hometown. I loved these paintings - the colors, and brush strokes. I wanted to live in these paintings, and I did. A type of do not disturb for my brain - instead of doom scrolling, I turned to the early 1920’s impressionists to learn about composition, value, color mixing and brush techniques. I started painting just 30 min a day. Sometimes all you need is a timer with an achievable goal to get you over the hump. I began meeting every month with my artist friend. I have found discussing frustrations and goals with a trusted friend to be transformative. I started to make friends with my inner critic, listen to her, calm her down like a grumpy coworker that just needs a donut. The joy of painting came back to me, and is a skill I want to continue to develop over the course of my life (just as long as my hands remain clean)!