There I was, lying on the living room floor with a coloring book in front of me. The morning sun was shining through the windows, providing both warmth and light for my artistic exercise that day. A teal crayon was my instrument of choice, and my tongue was strategically stuck out to enable the proper concentration needed to stay within the lines. This was my first memory as a child; I still reflect on that moment to this day. I was in a world all to myself, and every time I’m in the process of creating, I journey back to that place of comforting solitude.
My parents had always encouraged me to create art and provided me with all the necessary materials to do so. I was raised in a military family. My father was in the Air Force, and my mother remained at home to raise my older sister, my brother, and me. Only recently have I come to realize that my parents achieved miracles with what little they had. Faith in God, family, and art were the cornerstones of what turned out to be an incredible upbringing for my siblings and me. My father told me stories of how my grandfather used to take a pencil in each hand and draw a picture using both simultaneously. He, in turn, is an incredible illustrator himself, and once he realized his children were artistically inclined, he set the stage to nurture that generational gift in us.
