Old  trucks, boats, and the unusual capture my attention. I search for images from friends on Facebook, from the internet and from things I see along my way. If it inspires me enough to paint, I hope it will in some way stir an emotion, a memory, or perhaps a longing in others. For things that used to be or could have been or even may be once more.

When I was twelve, my mother gave me a paint-by-numbers set. I have no idea what prompted that surprise, but it awakened something inside. I devoured those little sets. I painted so many I lost count. Painting became my reward for getting my chores done.

I began to dabble on my own when I went to college, but it was just something fun to do. I never took painting seriously. Never believed it should be cultivated, not when babies needed to be raised, when bills needed to be paid. Years would pass before I had an artistic awakening.

A friend of mine called on me to paint a daunting 3 x 5 foot canvas. When it was finally hanging in her home, she invited friends over to celebrate. One lady came in the door, took one look, then burst into tears when she saw Coming Home. Seeing her emotional reaction to something I had painted profoundly touched me. My whole perspective shifted. In that moment, I knew I was an artist!