When I was very young, I witnessed a horrific accident. It wasn’t just any accident, it was my father’s… It was from this accident and my father’s subsequent death that I understood the need to retreat inside my imagination in order to find a bit of solace and peace. Inside my mind the world made sense to me and I found I could deal with my emotions through creativity. I discovered deep sorrow. I also discovered deep wonder and joy. Eventually, I learned to project that retrospection into a drawing here, a scribble there. By the time I was in my teens, I knew my dream was to become an artist. When I finally had children of my own and could look back at my own childhood experiences (my losses, my pain, my joy, and my freedom) I finally understood that I needed to commit to making art. I try to create something almost everyday. For me, my artwork is my old old friend. It is the ghost of my father, it is the love of my mother. It is the innocence I never knew, it is the joy I can’t explain, it is the freedom I so deeply crave. My art is the love of my family. It is the beating heart within. I love being an artist.