Do you remember the very first time you fell in love? That feeling that you just can't put into words? I have been painting all my life. I drift into and out of impressionism and post-impressionism. I do landscapes, seascapes and cityscapes. I use color to create emotion and feeling. My goal is always to leave the viewer with that feeling that you just can't put into words. There are so many artists in the world, I am not sure anyone has an exact count. And every artist that is actively pursuing their craft produces dozens, if not more, paintings every year. I have been pursuing this passion since I was old enough to walk and wander in my backyard. I am an artist. No, I have not been classically trained. I really haven’t had much formal training at all. I just loved color from the moment my eyes opened. I can not explain how a damn little child can be born with passion, but, I was.

Orange. Orange is the first color I remember using. I was very little. My parents rented an apartment on Porter Street in NW Washington, DC. At some point, I was exploring and found a can of orange paint. I painted every basement window in our building orange. My parents had moved to Lanier Place in Adams Morgan. It was a wonderful row house just blocks from the National Zoo. I was curious and began looking for other things that might make paint. I discovered clay, coffee, and poke berries. Poke berries were terrific. I could squish them and have this beautiful dark purple liquid. I discovered that by mixing different amounts of water, I could have different shades of color. I had newsprint (thank God, I never had a coloring book.) my father brought home from work. I also learned more pigment meant a thicker mix. I thought I was painting, I was staining. Pink was the next color. The previous tenants had left a large can of pink paint in the basement. I proceeded to paint my mother’s mixer and bowl pink. Her reaction was less than pleasant. I received that "Go to your room and wait until your father gets home!" demand. Perplexed I retreated.

My father attempted to circumvent my destruction. He bought me a small tin of water colors (red, yellow and blue) and a brush. I imagine he reasoned that anything I painted could be cleaned easier.I learned how to make secondary colors. Life was grand. Then the family was moved again. Maryland?!? What a nightmare followed, but more on that later.

One day, my father (the drama editor of the Evening Star newspaper) told me that he was going to take me to the movies. It was a movie about a famous artist and he thought I might enjoy it. He opened up one of the books in our Book of Knowledge collection. He told me this is the artist, read about him. The next day, off we went to the premier of “Lust for Life”. Kirk Douglas or a stand-in was at the premier, dressed in character. He sat down to be interviewed by my father. I was dumbfounded. Vincent was sitting in front of me. He handed me the wooden box paint set prop. I was only 10 years old and I had my very own, absolutely genuine paint set. There was a little palette, about 8 tubes of acrylic paint and two or three brushes and a palette knife. Life has never been the same.

I had my first solo show in Baltimore back in the late 90's. I walked in, saw the crowd. Immediately felt I don't belong here. Turned around and left. Some thought that was rude. I get that. But that feeling was over powering. I don't belong here. So I returned to small time venues and selling while interacting. The feeling remained. I don't belong here. Time passed and I began to get involved with art groups. Every meeting. Every paint out. Every time. I don't belong here. I went to a 4 day event in Crisfield. Tried to stay to myself. The whisper was the same. I don't belong here. Then the miracle. The other attendees were kind and welcoming. With them, I was ok and accepted.I was the adhd stranger. I have a brain that does math easily. Words form without effort. I barely crept out of high school. I had a brief taste of college. I managed to survive and raise a few families in one of the most expensive counties in the United States. I have always been a round peg in a society full of square holes. I am an artist. Self taught and forever learning. There will be so many more like me, artists, dancers, singers, and any manner of creative endeavor.So what does this artist do to earn a living and support my artistic journey? After what seems like a lifetime of an endless succession of “careers”, almost 20 years ago I chose to become a Realtor. An occupation that dovetails with lots of free time and places to paint. So I Art on! My heart is my art.