Where Do I Begin?

I am finally confronting this intimidating space much like I do an empty canvas , a blank page ,or a lump of clay. I've put it off for many nights only to lie awake thinking of all  I want to say and how I will display my work. I've decided to begin  as far back as I can remember and tell a quick story of my life as an artist. I truly have known that I loved creating things since I was a little girl. My earliest memories are of big boxes of crayons, new felt tip pens, scissors and paper, tape and glue, and fabric. Since these memories go back to early childhood I also remember the feelings that go along with them and these feelings are tied to events. The new box of crayons that I shared with my three sisters and how we argued over who got the gold, sliver and copper comes to me when my own kids get new boxes of crayons. The metallics still go to those with senority! I still remember being amazed that Crayola would actually make blue-green. I had  already been blending that one by myself! I also remember how beautifully my sisters colored inside the lines while I couldn't-and didnt want to. I stayed away from coloring books and found blank paper instead. I vividly remember making a drawing of a peacock using felt tip markers. Oh, the color and the smell! I made peacock pictures  over and over till I had those bold feathers perfected. Then there was the unlimited colored paper where I cut out Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer,especially Rudolph, and taped them all together and my mother proudly let me hang it over the kitchen table. The fabric has a bit of a more shameful memory as I did cut up the drapes my mother sewed for our bedroom. They were lavender which I had requested. Then there was the beautiful bold flower print that  found while mom was occupied on the telephone. There seemed to be plenty for a dress. I cut out two arm holes and an opening for my head and made a dress. I still remember her face as I showed it to her while she was still talking..... she never scolded me but I knew it didnt make her too happy. I think my mother was a major influence in my life as she allowed me to use all of her supplies-even her good oil paints when I was a bit older.  She gave me the freedom to create. I remember using her left-handed scissors for years and she didnt mind-I never thought about how uncomfortable they were , it was  just how using scissors was meant to be and I didn't mind. They cut very well. I think about the influence of parents now that I've been raisng our nine children.  We are all given a family with great  charcteristics and  peculiar faults. I think the Lord knows what we need to shape us and it is how we work through all that that brings us to becoming the people He designed us to be. I think of that now when I recall  our first home. Here is my Dad, an very conservative guy, right out of the Air Force, in the early 60's, crew cut, civil engineer, part time Guard pilot, yet he loved Classical music, played the trumpet and french horn in the local symphony, composed interesting things on the piano, and  painted a crazy mural on our dining room wall of scraggly men, seemingly post apocolyptic,  dying in smog reaching up amongst dead trees trying to get fresh air. He also introduced me to Salvador Dali and those melting clocks! Then there was my mom, sewing us beautiful Easter dresses accessorized with new white gloves, school clothes where we picked out the fabric, and Raggedy Ann dolls that had "I love you" embroidered on the heart. Her creativity is where I learned to love beautiful fabrics and embroidery floss, and later on fine yarns. These early years were a strong foundation that led to later art endeavors in clay, writing, and painting. So, with that introduction, I'm left with about 40 plus years to fill in later. At this point I'll post my more recent work and continue to dig up the past art history and the shaping of my life with my husband and children who have filled it over the years.