I can't remember a day of my life that I wasn't already addicted to the act of creating.
I grew up in the suburbs of Washington, DC and learned first from the artists around me. My parents and grandparents, though not professional artists, were extremely creative people who consistently filled their lives and mine with making things of one kind or another.
As I got older, and through college, the more I learned about art and other artists and every new way of making things, the more I liked it and the more addicted I became. I pursued art through my undergraduate years, through years of child-rearing and now into the great unknown...as always...
Today, I live in rural Baltimore County with my husband, our dogs, an ever-varying number of children ... and four exquisite, precious and endlessly entertaining grandchildren.
I'm thinking about joining a twelve-step program for art addicts. In my meetings I'll have to tell all the stories about my family having no dinner made for them and the house smelling like paint and turpentine and there being nowhere to sit in the living room because of all the paintings piled up. I'll tell them about the days on end of ill-tempered behavior while framing a show, the years of guerilla warfare with my life, kidnapping myself for a week at a time to go somewhere and paint, ignoring my loved ones and all my other responsibilities, my life ever out of control because there is never enough time to paint. Never.
And the twelve-step program will tell me that there is no hope for it. That I must give it up and live like a normal person. After that, I lose my mind altogether and start a revolution which changes life as we know it. After the revolution, the whole world revolves around creativity and all everyone does everyday is make fun and wonderful things.