I was an art major at UC Berkeley back in the early 90s. I tried drawing, painting, metal sculpture, and then, finally, clay. Clay was definitely for me. I loved how it smelled, felt, and lent itself to playful expression. After graduating, I moved to rural Florida for my boyfriend's job. I set up a studio there, where I tried to make sculpture in almost complete isolation, away from family, friends, other artists, and most other people, actually. I was alone every day with birds, snakes, and gators as my main company. I was young and lost. I did not thrive.

 

I chose a new path. I became a registered dietitian, wife, and then a stay-at-home mom of three. We moved every few years for my husband's job. My children were my living, kinetic sculptures. Working with clay was not even on my radar screen other than an occasional blip via my children's art classes.

 

Now, almost thirty years after graduating with my art degree, and quite unexpectedly, I have been given another opportunity to be an artist. And this time, I am not alone. I am working among other artists at a studio in Berkeley. I have endless resources at my fingertips on my computer. I have courage and determination that I didn't have when I was younger. This time, I am old and found. This time, I am ready to be an artist.