Creative Juices
Annie, my mom, is an artist . Acrylic paints onto canvas, charcoal sketches onto graphite paper and oil pastels onto velum sheets is only the tip of what can flow freely from my mom’s talented hands. I have grown up always wishing I could have half the amount of talent she has. It is the kind of talent that can’t be taught, it is a natural talent. So, when I was a child I was fascinated with unlocking my creative imagination. Growing up in a creative atmosphere was just part of our everyday lives.
My mom was always doing creative projects or crafts, but she would try to find special projects just for us to do. When my siblings and I were younger, my mom owned a sign and graphic design studio where she designed signs and logos for her customers. She would pick us up from school and we would go to the studio with her. We loved to dig through the scraps of papers, vinyls, pencils and markers she used to make her logos. Although it wasn’t always known to her that she was providing us with such items, we would often hunt for things that would make our little projects really special (such as her very expensive exotic Russian squirrel tail brushes for our masterpieces.) I recall a time when I got my tiny fingers on one of her “hands-off” paint brushes and I went to town “painting/scrubbing” the front door. To my surprise I wasn’t
met with cheers and congratulations; I was rewarded with standing with my nose in the corner. Mom kept a close eye on me for a while after that.
My mom would sign me up for crafting classes to fuel my passion and to learn new techniques. (In hindsight, I think she was trying to divert my attention away from her expensive paint brushes.) I was always eager to come home immediately and master my new found skills, whether it be dolls made out of wooden spoons or sewing dog beds for our loyal corgi, Trivet. I have to say, out of both of my siblings, Erin and Chris, I was the only one who found sewing fun.
Erin and Chris were my arch rivals and at the same time, my best friends. I felt as though I had to always watch them; I had to match their efforts with my own creativity. My sister, Erin, was always the academic child; she soared at school and was the kind of child that was disappointed when school was out. She always made us play school when no one in their right mind would even be thinking about school. Chris, my brother, was the one you had to watch out for. He seemed to find himself in trouble for most of his childhood. I had to compete with these two and I had to either stand out or stand back. It wasn’t always easy to make myself known but I had plenty of clever ways to try. I seemed to accomplish standing out by trying to be extra cute and funny or dressing in very radical outfits.
My parents allowed me to dress myself as a child. They were always amazed that I had this special ability to pull things out of the drawers and in some odd way, they would go together. My sister, in all her perfection, was embarrassed to be seen with me. I had a very special Little Mermaid sweater that paired exceptionally well with flowered leggings, neon colored socks and funky tennis shoes. That always got the attention I felt I deserved. During Halloween, I was allowed to generate ideas for my costumes. One of the very first years, I told my mom I wanted to be a pillow. She thought that was a great idea and went about sewing king-size pillowcases together and stuffing them with batting. She tied the upper two corners into something that resembled pigtails and out we went. I didn’t have to wear much under that awesome costume but some tights and a little sweater. I got a lot of comments from the neighbors and quite a few laughs when I would fall over trying to get up the steps. I was like a turtle on his back. My dad would pick me up and set me upright and I would be off again gathering treats. But the most noteworthy was the year I decided to be a Hershey’s Kiss. While other girls my age were dressed as princesses and fairies I was dancing around in a silver outfit shaped like the little chocolate treat. I was very proud of that outfit. Mom even made a little hat that came equipped with the “Hershey Kiss” pull strip on top. I was a very determined to accomplish whatever I had conjured up in my mind.
I was convinced, at the age of 4, that dogs could magically fly. There was no changing this little girl’s mind. Luckily for me our little and faithful dog, Pepper, just delivered a litter of puppies for me to experiment with; the puppies were just learning to walk. My selection for the day was a fluffy and chunky black one and it was time for me to prove to my family that dogs can fly. I walked my little flowery tights over and picked my favorite fur-ball, and catapulted that little, unsuspecting thing into the air and in a matter of seconds I learned that puppies, in fact, could not fly. We had to wait till my dad got home but we had a funeral that evening.
Growing up in a home with an artistic mom, a can-build-anything dad and siblings that always challenged me, it was apparent that I had an untamed and untapped imagination. I loved living in a make believe world. I would like to say that my imagination has carried into adulthood, but I’m afraid that days of my wild imagination are behind me.
