Normally, putting words on paper comes very easily to me. They flow and fit together in a way that I feel happy with. When I am done, I click the SEND icon and send it off, not stopping to really think again about what words were on the paper.

But, this time is different and ever so special. This time it’s about letting MANY VOICES readers into my innermost world where the greatest changes have taken place and where these beautiful new buds of hope and love and courage are being protected and nurtured every moment of every day so that they may take root and grow strong. It’s about taking you into the deepest depths of my mind and heart where my artwork always begins. For me, it’s about letting go of all the fear that has paralyzed me every minute of every day for over half a century and opening my arms to welcome you into my world where you are welcome to either accept or turn away from what I have to say.

For several years, special people have been telling me that even in multiplicity there is a oneness somewhere deep within. After endless searching and continual questioning, I have found that at the core of keepers where we all become one is this compulsion to create and express what lives within us all. Although I know that we will always see ourselves as keepers who live in multiplicity, we have found that oneness that has always escaped keepers. Out of respect for this new sense of who we are, I am choosing to write what I say in terms of “I” instead of “we”, my hope is that the collective I will be understood as you read.

In less than one month, I will have a full fledged gallery showing of my artwork that will last a full three months. To say that this is a monumental thing for me is to minimize it far too much. This opening and showing is what I have hoped for, dreamt of and worked toward for over forty years now.

Although my artwork has had other successes in recent years, I always saw myself as a homemaker who lived in multiplicity and happened to be able to draw or paint. Now, for the very first time, I am able to see myself and my many parts as true artists, which means more than anyone could ever know.

In all honesty, I do not feel like being an artist is something about me. Looking back at my ancestry and looking forward to my children, I know it is something that is simply in my blood. My great grandfather, an immigrant from Ireland, made his living painting murals on restaurant walls in the early 1900’s. My father was an artist with much talent although he made his living as an interior decorator. His legacy to me was surely his passions for color and texture. His art supplies were his gift to me when he passed away and the true beginning of my art. My son, who is now grown, has been a phenomenal artist since he was very young. He has done several pieces that truly boggle my mind. As he learned art in school, I learned from him. So, in a way, I feel as if my art carries on a family tradition that this family has passed down from generation to generation.

I am afraid that I have always had a much greater passion for doing my artwork than for doing housework or laundry or at times even spending time with my children. I wake up in the morning in a hurry to get to my easel and put on paper in whatever medium suits the mood, all the thoughts and feelings that seem to flood my being. I get so engrossed in my art that anything could happen and I would not notice. Time flies and the day is gone. The only thing I have accomplished is getting half of a picture done while dishes and dirty clothes have gone unnoticed. Yet, that artwork has always seemed so vital to my survival.

At first and for many years, I saw the artwork as an expression of my unbearable pain. I thought I was drawing and painting my inner demons; my anger and my fear. I was sure that, somehow, I was giving life to my memories and thereby setting them free in a way nothing else did. Eventually I began to see that this was not getting me anywhere and I put those pieces away for many years. My artwork changed at that point as I began to try to draw and paint peace and happiness and love. I thought that if I could see these things on paper, they would become real to me. There was not a conscious moment when these things were real to me but the time came when I put all of that artwork away and began doing pieces based on the beauty I was actually seeing in the world. My artwork shows my evolution from depressed and frightened and hopeless to knowing that it is so good to be alive and that every bit of pain I had felt held a touch of beauty as well. The strange thing is that as I look back on those early pieces, I see that they express hope and love in ways I had no concept of back then.

The greatest struggle I (keepers) have ever had to deal with is coming to peace with our own gender. This became crucial since we were raising two daughters who we wanted to love so badly but our own antagonism toward all females was seriously getting in the way. Therapy was no help in my dealing with this issue but I had to find an answer. I began drawing women in every way I could imagine-from nudes to mothers with children to grieving widows. It took over 20 years of drawing but I came to understand what it means to be a woman and what amazing wisdom women have and that it is safe to not only trust but to love as well, some women. This was a very private journey for me and my artwork was the only vessel available for my journey.

I have always wished for the ability to soften my focus and see in more abstract terms than I do. You see, my artwork is always incredibly detailed and exact. That is because I really do see every color in a flower or in a rainbow. When I look into any face, I see every color in the eyes and every line in the skin and every shadow being reflected. Not only can I not forget what I see but I always feel compelled to paint it or draw it or capture it for others somehow. My artwork really helps me know how well I and my other parts are perceiving the world and that helps me validate my own sense of reality.

More and more, colors and textures have become so important to me. Each color, each texture, each stroke of my brush is setting a mood-either kicking it up a notch or bringing it down a notch. Each stroke expresses something that is inside of me and says this is who I am. Before, each stroke felt like it was crying out for someone to understand and now each stroke seems to be saying to others that they have someone here who understands and cares in ways words cannot express. Maybe, it has become a mutual understanding between the artist and the patron.

I do not know what more to say except that my art has been what healed me. It has been the method through which God has revealed Himself to me. My art is me in every sense of the word because all that I am is in each piece I do.