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I graduated from Austin Peay University in 1988 with a degree in graphic design and a minor in journalism. It’s ironic that neither were fields in which I wanted to work, nor ever did.


What I really wanted to be was a fine artist and a writer. Both avenues were left unexplored because of all the “starving artist” stories I heard made the journey seem too daunting. I married young and had children to support. But like any true love, the urge to paint called to me. I painted canvases, walls, rooms and floors so many times my daughter jokes that when she smells fresh paint she always wonders if mom has been there. 


I worked as a waitress and later as a legal clerk for the government. After being passed over for promotions I felt I deserved, I took a look inward.  I discovered I had made career choices based on fear. I told myself I wasn’t good enough. After reflection, I decided not to care what people think; I paint for me. I paint because I’ve been given a gift; using it honors the giver.  I paint because I love the smell of paint, the possibilities, the accomplishment when a finished project has been a struggle. I paint because there is something so beautiful about a stroke of color placed in just the right spot. I paint because I feel God in my work.  

I knew when I retired I would find the time to pursue my passion and, maybe, call myself an artist. I have and I do.

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