Why do I paint?
Growing up I loved how much freedom art gave me in comparison to when I had to find an answer to
an equation or figure out how to problem-solve. Curving my fingers, gripping the paintbrush and
releasing all my energy into art really helped me relax. As children, we don’t know what stress is or
even understand when we are stressed, I didn’t know either. Each time I would feel a bit overwhelmed
or when my head started to heat up I started to doodle on the sides of my page. Almost everything
owned either had a drawing, a doodle, some paint or marker stains. If the paper was nowhere to be
found my hands and arms would be where I would draw on. In situations where I was not given art
supplies or if I had none, I crushed chalk and blended it with Vaseline to make colourful paste’s that I
would smear on the wall. This got me into trouble a few times as a kid and my mother was always
making me clean up my masterpieces. I would only remember colours, images and shapes that
connected me to memories of the people I was with, events and things that were significant.
I later realized my photographic memory was my embedded connection to the arts. It was a part of my
daily life, finding art in everything that surrounds me. So, if I’m asked why art? I ask, why do I breathe?