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This art journey has taken me all over the place – in big and small ways. But at every pass, it has taught me something. Since I was little, I was constantly immersed in some sort of arts class or passion and was always given the freedom to sink deeply into my imagination. When I was seventeen, I got my first paid art job. Since drawing was a prime interest of mine, I interviewed to draw caricatures at King’s Island Amusement Park in Cincinnati, OH. I was anxious to get a “real” art job. It paid well and seemed easy enough. Soon after the interview, I got the call that I was hired. Simple job training, costume measurements, and instruction about park rules followed. I had to dress up in a German frock-like outfit, got an art cart, and could work for extra tips. I have to admit, one summer of drawing caricatures was enough for me. The park was over 45 minutes from my house and with tourist back-ups, parking clogs, and a run through the costume department every single time, it only made sense to stay put once I arrived and work extra-long days. Rather quickly, I learned that I didn’t love being smothered by large crowds while I worked, I didn’t love dressing up, and I didn’t love selling art. But I did love to create, and I relished connecting with people through the arts. A variety of people, all stages and ages, sat down before me during that time to have their essence scrawled in ink and I had more than a handful of great conversations.  What I appreciated most is that I began to understand how much I actually absorbed through the arts – about myself and others and how much wisdom was present in ordinary people and everyday life. Art offered me a chance to slow down and communicate with others in a novel way. Over the years that truth hasn’t wavered…no matter what style I work in. 

Three instances remain fresh in my mind from that summer at the amusement park - like they happened yesterday – three interactions that still validly inform my practice and ring true till this day. Despite drawing purely for entertainment and income that year, I started to discover that foremost, an artist needs to be in-tune with her subject/subject matter/medium and love what she does. It needs to be true so that something authentic has the chance to escape. That was the summer I started to get my feet wet and begin this life-long exploration of fulfilling growth. 

Instance #1 – A loud, gregarious man showed up in front of my art cart wanting to be drawn. He plunked himself down in the chair and we started chatting. It was standard to ask the subject about their hobbies and interests. I needed an idea of what they wanted to be doing in the picture that I was about to draw. It could be real, it could be fantasy, but we needed to be on the same page. The man’s voice boomed as he called out to people walking by. He was making a spectacle of himself and had a hard time sitting still. As we talked, I tried to take all of him in. To my surprise, he asked me to draw him on a hog. 

“A hog?” I double checked. 

“That’s right!” he said with a slight drawl. “I want to be ridin’ a beautiful hog straight into the blazin’ sunset…” He stretched his arm as far as it would go and slowly sliced his hand across a hypothetical horizon while squinting from that imaginary sun. I tried to imagine right along with him, but riding a hog wasn’t exactly the activity I had envisioned for him. However, it was his drawing, so I shrugged and began. He wobbled around. He laughed. I had to keep reminding him to sit still. Soon, he yelled into the crowd and called a pal forward with a big open-armed gesture.

“Put him in there, too,” he said to me and welcomed his friend into the picture. 

I informed him that they would have to sit separately and that it would be a two-person drawing, not a single. He nodded in agreement. 

“Both of you on that hog, I presume?” I double checked as I just wanted to make sure. 

“You bet,” he winked. 

They were both feisty and fidgety, but warm and good-natured. The whole time I was drawing, I was completely stumped by their choice of activity. With every question that popped into my head about their adventures on a hog, I grew invariably intrigued and slipped farther into their fun and lively piece. I drew them as their laughing selves atop a plump and friendly pig with plenty of details to flesh out the story…a barn, a silo, cornstalks with kernels popping out of their husks from “the hot, blazin’ sun.” I finally finished and took a deep breath. 

“Are you ready to see it?” I smiled. I had done exactly as the man asked along with some extras. 

“Can’t wait another second, darlin’…” the first man said. I turned the drawing around and handed it to him. He took it in his hands and studied it for a second then burst out laughing. He doubled over laughing. He passed it to his friend who did the very same thing only more so. I froze and stared at them, puzzled. 

“Is everything okay?” I asked. 

“Oh honey, I don’t think I have ever laughed so hard!” he snorted. 

“Is that a good thing?” I asked. I was beginning to wonder and desperately wanted to laugh along with them…if only I understood the joke. 

“You have the BEST sense of humor!” he continued to go on and on. Their friends gathered and they too roared with laughter. I bit my lip and slumped a bit, still confused. 

“I did exactly what you asked me to do.” I said to the man. 

“Yes, you absolutely did, honey…and so much more. This is fantastic! Me and my partner, we are gonna fight over this one.” He paid for a double caricature, then slid a crumbled tip into my hand. His partner came over, not uttering a word, just laughing and slipped another crumbled bill into my hand. They praised me, they sent people my way, and I was clueless. They left. I opened my hand and found two $20 dollar bills in my palm!! As the next person sat down in my chair, I excused myself and went to another artist’s cart not too far away. I could see that the artist had been watching the whole scenario unfold. 

“What just happened there?” I asked him, waving the crumbled bills in front of his face. He was laughing, too. 

“I have to say, you actually do have an excellent sense of humor,” he said. “That was a crazy awesome drawing.”

“What do you mean? I said. “He asked me to draw them on a hog, so I did. I just added the farm stuff for fun, nothin’ super special.“ 

“Nah, it was amazing and totally hilarious. I probably would have just drawn them on a souped-up Harley or something…like he asked,” he continued. 

“But…he said to draw them on a hog…” I reiterated. I stood there lost in the moment. Then suddenly, a lightbulb went off and it all started to register. “Wait a minute…” I reeled back, “you mean…you mean a hog is a motorcycle?” I slowly pieced the clues together. 

“Like you didn’t know.” the artist snickered. 

I crept back to my cart. I actually did not know that. I’d never heard the term “hog.” I was barely old enough to drive a car much less know the nicknames of other vehicles. I did think it was odd that a couple of guys with dew rags and black leather showed up at my cart with a whole gang of tattooed friends and wanted to be drawn…on a “hog” (a.k.a - a fun-loving pig in my mind), but who was I to judge? I thought that maybe the guys were in costume like I was. If I had drawn what felt right to me, I would have drawn the duo on a motorcycle, but I wanted to honor exactly what the man said, so I literally stuck with the “hog” idea. I did draw them wearing their biker attire, though. I finally started laughing, really laughing, and felt embarrassed by my innocence and lack of clarification. In the end, it all worked out. The bikers passed my cart several times during the remainder of the day, each time calling to get my attention, joking, always laughing. To them, I had a great sense of humor which made me laugh even harder. I nicknamed them “The Farmers.” They were good sports.  We were all amused.

Lesson learned…Let a healthy balance of trust and humor guide the way through life – and never hesitate to ask questions! 

Instance #2 –It was near the end of the night on a busy weekend. A woman showed up at my cart and sat down. She was years older than me, gruff, hardened, and seemed to be on a particular mission. 

“Can you draw me?” she demanded in a prickly voice. 

“Yes.” I said as I watched her carefully prop a slender, brown paper bag up against the leg of her chair. It had some familiar-looking papers peeking out from the top. “Have you ever done this before?” I asked, eyeing the bag. 

“I’ve done this many times,” she admitted with cold, flat emotion.

“Oh good! Then you must enjoy it.” I said feeling a little relieved. 

“Quite the opposite,” she spat. “All the artists here are terrible, and you are the only one I haven’t tried.” At that moment all I wanted to do was disappear. I felt every bit of creative confidence leak from the bottoms of my feet. 

I swallowed hard and asked, “Why do you want another drawing?” 

“I just want a good one. ONE good one,” she pierced the air with a solitary finger.  

I knew the other artists in the park, and most were really good. They’d been doing it for a long time, were in art school, earned scholarships - they were anything but terrible. 

“Are those some of the other drawings?” I hesitantly pointed to the bag at her feet. 

“Yes...yes, they are,” she said indignantly . 

“Can I see them?” I winced. 

She picked up the bag and handed it to me. I removed the drawings and studied each one hoping I would gain some insight as to why she was so upset and continued to seek more. I  anticipated a bag full of sub-par work. Instead, I found delightful drawings from all of the other artists in the park. The drawings were technically perfect. In true form, these drawings were supposed to be light-hearted exaggerations done in bold line work - humorous, fun, personalized mementos. I looked at the woman then back at the drawings. The drawings were spot on. All of the artists did exactly what they were supposed to do and gained a great likeness. It dawned on me though, perhaps the drawings were a little too perfect. In all honesty, the woman had some harsh features and when they were exaggerated in a playful manner, it wasn’t necessarily funny. She clearly wasn’t laughing. I understood the problem and yet I didn’t have a great solution. I carefully put the drawings back into the bag and placed them at her feet. I repeatedly smoothed the paper on my easel as I let my mind fall through possibility. 

“Ready?” I asked her, focusing, and blurring my vision all at the same time. “Can you look at me for a second…straight in my eyes?” She sat up and turned her head my way. I caught a wisp of what filled her gaze. “Great, maybe just put your hands in your lap or something…and relax.” I said. Again, she did as I asked. Her demeanor softened a bit. I began to draw. I didn’t ask her any questions about hobbies or interests or anything like that. We didn’t chat. We sat in a comfortable silence as I worked. I took my time and watched her edges dissolve in the passing moments. I finished the drawing and exhaled. I was a little nervous as I handed it to her. She took it and stared at it for quite some time until her eyes grew moist. She finally muttered, “This is me?”  

“Yes.” I answered. 

“This…this…” she stammered, gripping the edges of her drawing in a way that made certain it wouldn’t disappear, “this looks nothing like those other stupid drawings in the bag,” her eyes darted towards her stash. “It makes…it makes me happy.” Her whole body seemed to release something treacherous. “This is really me?” she quietly asked again.

“Yes, it is you,” I said with relief. “Don’t you recognize yourself?”

“Those other artists…they are all just jerks,” she bristled and started to reclaim the bitterness that had all but left her. “You’re a much better artist than all of them put together,” she dug in farther. 

“That’s not true,” I pushed back. “They aren’t jerks or bad artists. They’re all pretty amazing. This just happens to be a really busy weekend and I think…I think they simply forgot to look in your eyes.” I smiled and made light of the situation. Her eyes adoringly returned to her “new caricature” (which in fact, wasn’t a caricature at all.) It was a sensitive rendering of the woman who sat before me wistfully gazing into the distance, her hands softly resting in her lap. There was nothing funny about it. It focused on her truth and elegant depth. 

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to hang this up in my house.” She tenderly slid the drawing alongside the others and stood up with her bag. She paid for her drawing then pulled two handfuls of change from her pockets and plopped them on my cart. “For you!” she beamed. “I’m going home now.” Just then there was a loud boom. She startled from the noise and accidently bumped the cart. Coins spilled everywhere. “Oh gosh,” she blushed and became awkwardly flustered. 

“Go. It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve got it…just go.” I waved her away amongst all the runaway coins. She turned and looked up to the sky as fireworks exploded everywhere. The evening was coming to an end and closing rituals were underway. She left. I sunk heavily into my chair and sat motionless until the fire in the sky faded. I couldn’t help but wonder why this woman spent an entire day roaming an amusement park in search of personal revelation.

Lesson learned – Resist the temptation to be formulaic and unaware. Always take the extra time to sensitively listen, care, and appropriately step out of the box. It can make all the difference. 

Instance #3 – Suddenly, a seemingly ageless woman appeared in front of my cart, small and bright. She sat down and almost instantly seemed to bloom from the chair.  

“I would love for you to draw me!” she exuded. 

“Sure!” I responded. We began to talk back and forth. “So, what brings you to the park today?” I asked. 

“I am in town for the week. I’m attending a conference and was told that this was a fun place to go,” she said. 

“It’s definitely a great place. Even the Brady Bunch visited here. Have you ever seen that episode?” I asked. She chuckled. “So, what is it that you do?” I asked her. 

“I’m a psychic,” she answered matter-of-factly. 

“A psychic? Oh wow!” I marveled. “I’ve never drawn a psychic before. So, in my drawing, what would you like to be doing…sitting in front of a crystal ball or…what?” I laughed. 

“Hmm,” she paused and peered at me. “You know, why don’t you just draw me doing whatever it is that you see me doing,” her voice grew slow and pointed as she finished her sentence. 

“That’s it?” I asked. I paused and slowly scanned her being from head to toe, reigning in the freedom and also searching for direction. Then I got started. We chit-chatted our way through the drawing. I finally felt finished and turned it around. She studied it for several minutes before her head started bobbing with approval. 

“Nice…very perceptive,” she said. 

“Well, I wasn’t sure if….” I started. 

“Nope,” she put her hand up and stopped me. “This is absolutely perfect,” she said. “You know…” she went on. “I see you in the South one day, your life filled with airplanes.” 

“What? Where did that come from?” I asked. “I have no plans to go to the South, ever. All of my friends and family are here…and I plan to stay.” I planted my words firmly in front of her. She looked me straight in the eyes, took a crisp, unfolded ten from her pocketbook and extended it my way. I looked down then slowly let my eyes crawl up to meet hers. I was taken aback by the ancientness that lived in her gaze. I paused with absolute wonder. She smiled as I reached for the bill. 

“Good luck to you, my dear” she said in a kind but definite voice. 

“Why? What’s in the South?” my voice chased after her. She released the ten into my grasp and took one step away. Immediately, she was absorbed into the crowd. I searched through heads and shoulders, but eventually stopped. I couldn’t find her. I was filled with questions, but she never came back. 

Lesson learned – Never stop growing or reaching towards life’s mystery – cherish it, reflect it, and stay true. 

The uncomplicated insight and variety that was readily available in those simple beginnings struck me. Those learnings never failed to present themselves or influence me repeatedly - in my life, in my art, disguised in different forms, situations, and as various people. I’ve been travelling this creative path for years now, realistically, abstractly, expressively, intuitively, and through art I am continually stretched and challenged in my understandings and experiences. Ironically, I did move to the South. It took me almost twenty years from that particular summer to do so, but I am here and have called it home for the last 15 years. I look forward to each drip of paint, every swath of light, and the marks of heartfelt reflection that come forward from this artful path, but most especially I look forward to the stories, connections, and humble wisdom that continue to show up day after day.