When Did I Start Painting

When I turned 40, I started reflecting on my life so far. I started thinking about Little Heather and her intrinsic nature to create. Turns out, Little Heather has always been my Creative Muse so, like Picasso, I invite her into the studio. (Picasso before entering his studio would turn back his internal clock to when he was a child.)

In my childhood, I was relentlessly creating. As an infant, my mother would find me awake from my nap quietly and contently painting the walls from my crib. As a four-year-old, I’d run colorful marks all along the expansive white hallways in my childhood home. I’d expressively scribble marks on nearly every photograph we owned and if any camera were left out, I’d use all the film to photograph my little sister as model. As an adult, I think of my poor mother. Yet I have no memory of being scolded for these actions.

I remember, as a child, my mom attending fashion design school. I was surrounded by luxury fabrics and materials. I would watch her paint figures on these gorgeous sheets of pressed watercolor paper, and then watch her turn these images into reality. I was enamored. She’d even make miniature evening gowns for my dolls—which I credit for my early affinity with dresses and luxury. Her “sewing room” was a bedroom converted to her studio. The hall closet was filled with all her high-end beads, pearls, sequins, and feathers. I loved running my fingers through the tiny beads and collect the fallen ones hiding in the carpet. She’d lay out large rolls of fabric to cut, much like a painter with raw canvas. I loved the space she took up, the scale of the creation process.

My father is a talented landscape designer who uses colorful exotic plants as his medium to “paint” and express beauty. My father has always loved flowers and color, so much that my sister and I were named after flowering plants. My childhood yard was very much like viewing a large-scale color field painting; it was an immersive and sensory experience we played in. My dad planted a flowering tree for each of us to climb, one purple, and one pink, our favorite colors. He developed these trees as a focal point, which the rest of the design supported. It felt like my own magical secret garden to escape in. It was otherworldly. My inherited my father’s love for color.

My parents had their own businesses making their “art,” and still do today. My childhood experiences didn’t separate Business vs. Creative, and I was never discouraged to pursue creativity for a more practical endeavor. For me, it was more than knowing “I want to be an artist”, rather, it was knowing that “Artist” was my calling.