When I was 6 or 7, I went to a Brownie meeting with my best friend. She was in the troop, and I wanted to be in it because she was. Looking back now, I think the thing I liked the very most were the sashes they wore over their uniforms with the badges carefully sewn on. After the meeting I went home and made 4 or 5 of my own badges. I don’t remember anymore what they looked like, I just remember being so excited to show them to the troop. And I remember that when I went back to the next meeting and brought my home-made badges with me, they were met with silence. A lot of silence. And I was told that if I were going to become a Brownie, I’d need to use their badges.
I didn’t become a Brownie. But I did continue to create, and through every genre I’ve tried, through every stage of my development as an artist, through every failed project, through every joyful success, I’ve told the stories about who I am, where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.
I paint because colour always gets me where I want to go–even and especially when I am not at all sure of where I’m going. I return over and over again to the easel because for me painting is like both the first and last day of school: full of promise, full of possibility, and full of the potentiality of stumbling upon something new that will lead me to a place I have never been.
I write because words can weave magic and remind us of who we truly are. I pick up my pen or open my laptop because through words, ideas can grow and take on a life of their own.
I design because I like to be the interpreter of other people’s stories. We all have our stories to tell. Many of our stories intersect with each others, and I learn more about who I am through hearing the stories of others. The more I listen to other’s stories, the more I am inspired to tell my own.
I create because there are ever more stories to tell, to hear and experience and because my voice is just one in a chorus, in this ensemble of life.