When I was twenty-one I moved to London, England to discover who I was but not yet aware of the artist I would become. While there, I would sit for hours on rainy days and write in my journal. I went to London not only because it was a cool thing to do but also because it was a time in my life when I had few responsibilities like mortgages, kids, and car payments. Why not travel and be free like the wind? College I figured, would just have to wait. When I arrived in London, I got a job working as a hotel receptionist, and what I enjoyed most was meeting people from all over the world. I didn’t have a clear purpose initially, but while there, I found one. I attended theater performances, frequented museums, and while discussing art with friends over coffee, the idea of becoming an artist bubbled to the surface. I bought watercolors and started to paint, but felt entirely too self conscious. When I got down to it, I was even afraid of the word “artist” when applied to me. But I continued to paint nonetheless.

Today, as I discovered in London, being a creator of art is not always easy. It demands work from me everyday not only to keep the creative juices flowing but to pay the mortgage I now have too. But I wouldn’t trade the work I do for anything else. A creative job is demanding–but so is life. I live art and the artwork I create gives me life. I recently went to Greece as a traveling artist and writer and upon my return, published the book “The Artist on the Road: Impressions of Greece.” Looking into the future, I feel three activities will demand most of my creative attention: Outdoor sketchbook drawing, etching, and writing. My recent discovery of book making has allowed me to combine all my loves into one. Sketchbooking and Stories of my travels will keep me working and happily occupied, for a long time to come.