As a young girl, I doodled on every empty spot on whatever paper I could get my hands on. While the sport of volleyball is my cup of tea, drawing and painting are, as they have always been, my passion.
As an elementary school student, I cherished every moment of art class, even if I found the demands of my art teachers too stifling. Art teachers always dictated both the subject and medium of every art project instead of giving free reign to our artistic talents. Fortunately, my love of art compelled me to pursue my talents outside the classroom, i.e. in the privacy of my room that I fondly called my "studio".
Art has been, and continues to be, the main outlet for my feelings. When I'm depressed, melancholy expressions overwhelm my paintings. Frustration or rage is highlighted by shades of red or bright orange. A distorted face done in the cubist style of Picasso shows up in drawings made in times of astronomic blis
If one were to ask what my favorite art work is I'd readily tell you that it is this portrait I made for my mother. The portrait was painted from a picture taken during her engagement to my dad. I painted it when I was about 15 years old and I had a wonderful experience when I started drawing her features. Her eyes shone with excitement but her smile was not whole. I asked her what she was feeling during that time, but she clammed up. I became more and more intrigued as I translated her face on paper. I finally asked my grandmother about her strange, hesitant smile and she laughed and said, "She had a run in her pantyhose. She was worried it might show up in her full body pictures." Yes, centuries later scholars and artists will see my portrait. They will wonder about that peculiar smile, just as the world has about Mona Lisa's. I guess they will never figure out that it was all because of a run.
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