I don’t remember when my love affair with creating began–but it must have been sometime during my fourth year of life.
I know this because in a larger-than-life, brightly colored box, I found my one true love.
It was an art set. Complete with drawing table, crayons, colored pencils and markers. It had bright red legs and the whitest surface I’d ever seen. I spent countless hours at that little red desk. I remember the purple slashes that stained its surface when I got a little too vigorous or when I colored a little too heavily on my printer paper. It was plastic. Probably because my parents had no idea how long this most recent phase would last–before that it was ballet (what was I thinking?)–but I’m glad they indulged me. Because that mild interest has turned into a life-long obsession. One that caught me up young and fast and will continue to carry me away into old age.
I got my first sip of creative juice when I was four and I’ve been drinking it in ever since.