Where did it start? What’s my story? Being an artist begins like most with a moment of inspiration, exposure to something creative and a mentor who perhaps completely by accident and without intention shows you something that blows your mind and changes you for good.  I had that moment in grade 2.  My father was a very creative and artistic spirit himself and because of him I believe that an inclination towards the arts follows in the bloodlines and is ignited through exposure and the freedom through invitation to play.  I was given an assignment to explore an animal ( I chose the humble horse) which needed a visual Maquette ( if you aren’t familiar with this term, it simply is a shoe box cut in half and painted, with 3d elements glued on) of the horses natural environment. My dad offered to help me with the painting of the wild landscapes in the back ground of mountains and waterfalls etc. At the time my Opa and Oma (German grandparents) lived next door and my Opa had an epic train set that he had set up and worked on with meticulous detail in his basement and I was given fake mosses, little miniature horses with riders and fences to glue to my maquette in the foreground. My father spoke of perspective and distance and taught me about how as things are farther away from you the details become less defined, and he showed me painting techniques I still use today to paint trees and mountains. In that moment, my future was also defined. I was hooked!  The next year my father passed away after a brief fight with leukemia and it has been said to me that on his death bed he expressed regret at not making art his total focus and not just a hobby. He wished he had followed his dream now that his time was ending. Something I vowed I would not do, is go to my own death bed with regret about how I spent my time and energy on this earth. I was going to follow my dream wherever that led me knowing that he would be by my side guiding me through difficult financial times and through times of recognition and success. I understand why he chose a more stable road, with a family to feed, and mortgages to pay and responsibilities that often weigh heavily on man, being an artist would be a tough road to tread. I am feeling that especially now that I have all those same responsibilities, plus living in a society and economy that doesn’t seem to value the arts like it should. The odds seem stacked against us. But regret at the end for choosing what was easier seems more expensive a risk for me. Below is one of the paintings I have in my home that my talented father painted. It hung in the entranceway of my parents’ home until my mom sold her house and left that town for good. I was gifted this piece of treasure that greets me next to my bed when I wake up like a hug from my dad reminding me to keep painting, keeping making and creating and the rest will follow. I certainly won’t regret any of it when you ask me one day on my death bed.  What was your defining moment?