I will be totally honest. I love art. Ever since I was a little girl. My favorite part of school was arts and crafts. I actually went through a phase when I wanted to be an artist. I loved art. I won art shows with my work. I would come home and color, make paper mache, paint, play with clay…anything that let my creativity run wild.

Then something happened to me that happens to many young artists, I grew up. I decided I was too “cool” to draw or paint or craft. My art projects got tucked away into boxes, stored in the attic, my art supplies given away or tossed out.

In high school, my grandfather died. His wife (my mother’s mom) was an artist. Specifically drawing and painting. When my mom and I were cleaning out his house, we came across paintings of hers and old art supplies. I gently picked them up and placed them in the box marked with a giant “to keep” across its side.

When I took the findings home, it was by some tug on my once-believed retired creativity I felt the urge to play. Of course I was disappointed. The pencils broke, the paints were dry and my urge to create died just as fast as it came upon me.

It was not until college that my creative urge struck again. For Christmas, my Mother gave me an easel and artist set. Complete with watercolor, acrylic, and oil paints. Maybe it was because I had time to mature or I had more time to discover myself in college but I was thrilled. I always wanted my very own set of nice supplies.

I set my easel up in front of my window, overlooking the pond and greens. I unwrapped a new canvas and placed it into the tray. Acrylic, I thought. It’s a great beginner paint, that’s what I remember Grandma saying. Leave the watercolor and oils for later. My hand held the brush which slowly made movement on the canvas. It started subtle, then more and more I began to create, watching as the colors all moved together to create a palette of emotions. It felt as if all my pent up creativity was going berserk. I finished in just over two hours. Crazy…and I had a landscape painting to show for it. It was not beautiful of course, you could tell I need practice, I need to do some exercises, I need to take it slow. But I couldn’t wait until I could pull my paints out and create something new again.

I think sometimes we are convinced we have lost something from our past. Whatever it may be. Convinced it was just something from our childhood. Something we will never have again. But maybe, when we are born with something, like me and my creativity, it never really dies. It lays dormant in our hearts and souls. All we really need is the courage to listen into it and soon enough we will feel it drawing us in, like a close family member who has been gone too long. And once again, we will find ourselves safe, in something that has always comforted us, been there for us, and allowed us to truly be ourselves.

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