A simple flex of the hand and the image is gone. Forever.

Figurative drawing was the first class I registered for at Rhode Island School of Design somewhere around 1993. No small effort as I believed I had no business thinking I belonged at one of the finest art schools in the States. A bold move for the shy little girl who once feared raising her hand in class. Determination and want usurped any doubt or insecurities. I had little time for entertaining negative thoughts that would paralyze me from actualizing a dream.

So, there I was lugging a large canvas bag filled with the art essentials specified for this class along with a particle drawing board already adorned with a chunk of newsprint paper and a few expensive pieces of a neutral gray Canson drawing paper. Pearl gray to be exact.

The class was a foundation requirement. Little did I know when I walked up the many flights of stairs burdened with supplies to the expansive studio classroom that I would find my passion as soon as I crossed the threshold. I knew it at an intrinsic level …

Class wasn’t like anything I had ever experienced. The environment was dramatically different than any educational institution I had previously attended. Not good or bad just different. I was energized and driven by this creative place. I sank into what would be my home away from home for the next few years…