She is a tiny seed encoded and enriched with endless possibility. That seed knows what she is made of and what she could be, but needs care, nurturing, and cooperation from the universe to grow into her full potentiality. That seed is fearless beyond measure. She will be violently tossed with abandon in a careless, uncaring wind. She will thirst through a drought; endure flood. She only knows she needs to grow.

Despite a harsh life that tried to kill my soul, and convinced me to give up on myself and my reasons for living, I kept that seed alive. She also kept me alive. In my darkest moments when dying seemed the only way out of the entrenched darkness, I found myself entrapped within, she was there…the artist who refused to die.

I had a dream last night. I was big-bellied pregnant; beaming, radiant like a harvest moon. I am now giving birth to the person and artist I was always meant to be, allowing the seeds of who I always was to root, grow, and blossom. Too many people in their quest to live the life they think they should live are grinding their own seeds into oblivion. I will not allow this to happen. I cannot allow it to happen. This secret love I have had for art has been kept in the dark for way too long. It’s coming to life has been long overdue.

Born into a family who saw artists as defective beings I learned early I needed to keep who I was safely hidden. Now being in the last trimester of my life hiding is an odious impossibility. I choose unapologetically to share openly of myself and my art. My art is about truth. I do not know how to live otherwise. That is how I show the gratitude and love for the beautiful life I have been given.

My feelings as a fifty-three-year-old woman of color starting a career dominated by white males and young hipsters are complicated and convoluted. While I am very excited about starting an art career after decades of dedicating my life to being a mother and a wife, I have also been very much afraid. Fear has been a dominating, distracting voice in my life for far too long.

Fear has kept me quiet. Fear has kept me small. Fear has kept me still. Fear has made me listen to the tunnel-minded people who have said I am not good enough to be an artist.  Fear has given voice to those who say I should forget my folly of being a painter; “be content with being a wife and mother.” Fear has made all those negative voices of others my own. Fear has made me believe the lies it tells are real. Fear has kept me from doing that which I love, but more importantly fear has kept me from being the person I need to be, the artist I was born to be. The popular Arab saying, “fear eats the soul,” succinctly describes the nefarious nature of fear. It is corrosive; it burns deep into the fiber of our being, changing who we are, making us forget what we are made of. Fear is a lie that deceives us into believing our dreams are not possible. As Rudyard Kipling says: “Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears.” Fear is a horrible, useless, waste of time. Our friendship is terminated.

 I have lived on five continents, seven states, and forty-two different homes. This website is a needed home for my art and words. This will be the place where I share my work, ideas, passion,  dreams, aspirations, disappointments, joy, and my Love for life and art. I open this up to a conversation with you. Welcome to my world.

Blessings of love and joy… live and love deeply.