For the most part I consider myself a creative person. I like art, music, reading, scifi, and thinking out of the box. I thought of myself as a fairly average kid for the most part up until we moved to Salt Lake City. My life changed drastically, being informed you are going to Hell by one’s classmates and then being shunned for the rest of the year ended me viewing myself as average.
I became an outsider over night and got a good dose of religious discrimination. Life pretty much sucked hardcore. I turned inward and starting writing. Reading back through what I wrote during that time, it is some nice and depressing material. I wrote poetry and fiction through my 20’s. Obviously I still enjoy writing as I am now a blogger.
In my 20’s I started painting, it just seemed right to me and so that’s what I did. Telling a story through a picture became my focus and I loved it. Than I discovered quilting and that took over my life for a while. When Grandma B. died it seems my desire to quilt did too. She was also a quilter. For a long time I haven’t down anything artistic out of the kitchen.
But lately I feel a welling up inside and a calling to the creative. Its loud enough that there is no pushing it down even if I wanted to. Paper making and collage is calling my name and I am going to see where they take me. I’m excited about this welling up.
The years I spent as a marginalized and bullied teen were awful but at the same time they created within me someone who looks beyond and tries to see the whole picture. Someone who wants to express feeling via words and pictures.