I have noticed yesterday that reading my about me profile on my blog is pretty pitiful. I sit here and post and post my crafting abilities but never really about myself. I do have a past I swear. Everyone gets mushy and gushy with their blogs.. maybe tells a complete life story and cries about it in the end. I never really understood how people could sit and think wow my life sucks so bad. I have always believed in you are your own judge. You make your life what it is.
I like to think that I have always been lucky for the life that I’ve always had. I have a wonderful set of parents that almost our whole community knows as great people. My father has always been a handy man . He would seem to disappear in the depths of his work room making things out of scraps of wood. It always seemed to intrigue me and my sister when we were little. We would sit in the bathroom and listen through the vent to find out what he was doing. Listening to him singing to himself would always make our day. When Dad wasn’t using his hands he was usually making up some god awful poem that made us laugh. He was always great at comforting us . One hug made me and sister cringe with happiness every time. We knew we were his girls.
My mother ever since we were little couldn’t keep her hands off of any craft. I remember playing in the basement consisted of watching mom paint intricate lines on a piece of wood. My mother was always surrounded by crafting. My grandmother dedicated a hole bedroom in her mobile home too craft supplies. She always said the room was for us kids. A day bed ,stuffed animals, and a lot of cat hair, wasn’t really impressing to us. Mom now has her own crafting room. When I moved out my sister was not hesitant to take my room . Hey like they say whatever makes you happy. Little did she know my room was cold and dark. Mom made it out with the warm and bright room filled with loads of crafting supplies. That lucky duck.
When I was a little girl my most remembered moment was I always wanted to be a business women. My sister and I always researched at the library for new things. My best friend Amanda always tagged along. We tried the friendship bracelet selling, the neighborhood plays, and the best of all of our ideas, our own magazine. Amanda has always loved fashion and the gossip magazines. I did also but the only time I read them when I was being corrupted underneath her bed reading them. Along with her sisters journal of course. Each of us ( which was only three people) had a different job. My job was too cut out magazine pictures and glue it to a piece of cardstock. Yeah, great magazine. We swore that someday this glue dripping construction paper magazine would be on all of the magazine racks. Amanda and I would spend days planning our bike ride down to the park with tuna sandwiches just to talk about it. Like all things the magazine idea eventually floated by when we found Pokémon cards. Worth a try.
For one Christmas I begged and begged for an easel. After reading all of these art books in the library ( the kids section) I thought painting would be my thing. I got my easel and I’ve probably painted five paintings. The rest were never finished. They all seemed to consist of lost ideas that I come back to and ask myself “what was I doing”. I never really go back to those paintings unless I move them. I never really move them. In high school I always had thought the kids in the art classes were cool. They always seemed like a close nit group. Nobody cared what the wore or they looked like. They were almost best friends with the teacher. People just knew they were an art kid. I wanted that.
I took two art classes at Hudson valley. They other classes were the stupid ones that nobody liked, like English. In my views why do I need to take those dumb classes when I am taking art. I will never forget my first class in drawing. The teacher was wacky, kind of reminded me of the mad hatter. Just a sheltered art professor that knew his stuff. Looking him up on the internet I found wow he really knew his stuff. His sculptures were emaculant, his drawings were perfect, and his speaking was inspiring. Walking into my first class I expected him to stand up and say “draw.. drawww away”. Yeah no. We spent a hole day on drawing a circle. “hold your arm out , that’s not good enough” for a week. That one class I took kicked my butt. Late nights up drawing kicked my butt. It all kicked my butt. Then there was one rainy day coming home from my art class. Slam I was hit. I passed out, and hit my head. I woke up in a hospital with a concussion and an old man saying “ look at that baseball on your head”. This is when I say my famous quote “o my life”.
I did many things after this point some good , some bad, some life changing but doesn’t everyone? Art has always stuck by me in the end. I always made a friend a shirt, drew a friend a picture, painting a friend a portrait ,I was always with art. That would be why I’m here. Doing what I love and what has stuck by my heart.The funny thing is ending this blog post I’m still thinking I missed so much. I didn’t document this story or tell about this. Well I guess that’s for me to know and you to find out.
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