I am an artist.
I grew up in Southern California in the 1950’s and 60’s.
The creation of fantasy and disillusionment was present in the movies, our home and the church.
I never tire of story.
It was difficult to behave myself growing up.
I couldn’t become the good wife my husband wished me to be.
My sister and I always created, but we didn’t know it was art.
There were no role models for what I would eventually become: an artist, a lesbian and a creative mind reader.
I gravitated toward art classes.
But I was encouraged to be practical.
The women’s movement saved me.
I finally had words for what I was.
I draw and I paint and I look for the stories that intrigue me.
I am so grateful to everyone who has encouraged me along the way.
