Daughter of a thoroughbred trainer and barrel racer, I’ve (maybe surprisingly) been an artist from the get-go. But I was never quite as “free-spirited” as would be assumed.

In high school, I jumped head-first into realism and found I was quite good as a human copy machine, but for some reason that kind of work never felt fulfilling. In fact, I burnt out quickly as an artist and by the time college years rolled around, I was happy keeping my art supplies tucked away somewhere in a deep dark corner to ensure nobody in this new town ever found out what I could do.

Slowly but surely, this began to change. And then my son was born.

I guess you could say that when he was born, I experienced a kind of “rebirth,” too. Suddenly, this not-so-spontaneous, certainly-not-playful, way-too-serious-for-her-own-good woman began to learn how to play, laugh, make silly faces, and sit happily in the dirt.

I’ve heard it said that the things you loved as a little one often prove to be your passions in adulthood. This rings true for me. The new education furnished by my little guy, coupled with heaps of encouragement from friends who have known about my little artsy secret, kindled a new and growing desire to return to artistic expression.

And this time, I wasn’t always going to color in the lines.