29 YEARS of Being An Interdisciplinary Artist:

I was raised by two artists.

My mom, a musician, my dad, a visual artist. My mom can pick up ANY instrument and figure it out in 15 minutes or less. You name it, she’s played it. Think you know music theory? Let her talk for 5 minutes and you’ll learn something new. My pops could sculpt anything from anything, carved masterpieces into leather, and would turn receipts and birthday cards into art worthy of frames.

THEY never told me to pick one thing.

They encouraged everything that meant I was using my brain and my imagination. I built endless fairy houses from twigs in the yard, crafted mansions in the rhododendron bushes in the backyard, and climbed a few trees I shouldn’t have climbed to get the perfect reference view for my latest piece of art. There were stacks of sketchbooks, staff paper, and boxes of art supplies everywhere. Strips of leather next to crayons, scrapbook paper and magazines, we had it all. Truly an artist’s (and child’s) paradise. My mom’s music room was a single car garage that my dad transformed into a fully finished haven. Dulcimers, guitars, keyboards, an upright piano, and more, line every wall. We always put our Christmas tree in there, and it was, and is, the most magical room in the house. SO much creation happened there. Music parties would fill our house with artists of all sorts, and the house was never quiet. When I say I listen to everything, I mean I listen to EVERYTHING. My dad raised me on opera, classic rock, and western, and my mom raised me on old-time Appalachian ballads and world tunes. I was exposed to the most amazing art forms and artists before I even hit double digits.

In elementary school, I took a few art classes, was in chorus, and did a drama class. Two of my middle school art pieces were featured in the local university’s visual art gallery. Big deal, if you ask me. I refused to take art classes in high school because I didn’t want someone to tell me how to interpret a prompt. I know, silly. That’s the point of classes. To learn how to see things differently. But I was bullheaded and stuck to my guns on that one. My dad taught me most of what I knew with visual art, and then the art books I was gifted taught me the rest. Now when I want to learn something? All Hail YouTube University.

My mom taught me piano, and I ended up teaching myself guitar because I was impatient and stubborn. She would have to threaten me with not being allowed to play the piano because I would spend hours on it, sight-reading everything I could get my hands on instead of practicing scales and learning theory. While my dad wasn’t a musician, he loved music. So when my mom would play piano or be practicing for a gig, he would sit at the office chair on the other side of the room, close his eyes, and soak it in. There was never a moment when someone wasn’t being encouraged to be creative in our house.

I was surrounded by musicians, artists, and lovers of the arts from the day I was born.

Exquisite, eccentric, electric individuals who thrived in the weird of it all. My parents were older when they had me, around 40, so their friends were older, too. I never realized just how unique that made my childhood until I was an adult trying to make friends with people my own age. I still struggle, if I’m honest. I was surrounded by adults who had figured it out. At least in my eyes.

They wore their Birks with socks, had patchwork pants they had been wearing since the 70s, hosted music parties with a day’s notice and ended up with 60 attendees, and some of them even built their own houses by HAND. They are some of the coolest people I have ever met. That only scratches the surface of the people I met as a child. I could go on for days about the amazing people my parents introduced me to.

As I navigated the horrors of teen-hood, I really struggled with the pressure to choose a single path for my future. I’m talking full-on meltdowns about it. My mom sat me down and told me that she had been told by society, friends, bosses, and even parents, that she needed to pick one avenue to focus on. Just pick the job that makes you money, not what makes you happy, right? I couldn’t fathom that.

She told me, “You don’t HAVE to pick one thing. You’re too good at too many things to box yourself in. Make sure your bills are paid, but do whatever you want. You’re an artist, you will always be an artist.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve worked more jobs I hated that paid the bills than ones I’ve loved. It’s a struggle, but once you find something you love AND pays your bills? What a difference that makes.

My parents’ unconventional approach to life served as inspiration, and still does. When I catch myself doubting, I remind myself that my mom made a living as a musician before the internet. She wasn’t signed to a label, and she certainly didn’t get picked up on a national TV show. My dad had an exhausting and trying career, and still made time to be an awesome dad and husband, AND an artist. And they were not young chickens when they had me!

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that my role models aren’t the billionaires on yachts (give me 5 minutes to convince you to Eat the Rich). They aren’t the 9-to-5 queens who make it look easy to have a routine (love them though). And they certainly aren’t the people that tell you you can live life when you’re retired.

My role models are the weirdos living in the woods in a ramshackle house they built with recycled tires and parts of a barn.

They’re the coverall-wearing banjo players that walk off a field and into a jam session. The artists who have never had a gallery showcase but have sheds full of fine art on canvases and walls filled with the art of their friends. My role models are my parents - two people who created a life and home full of joy, love, and acceptance. Two extroverts who were made to create, who somehow created an introvert who hated being told “how to art”.

I am simply not meant to pick one hobby or one career or one style of art. That just isn’t who I am. And after 29 years of being on this spinning rock, I’m really good with that.

So, to all the fellow artists and free spirits out there, I urge you to break free of the confines of convention and embrace the richness of life and how you see the world. Life is too short to stay in one box. Cut a whole in that thing and try that new hobby. Start that new career.

Just have fun.