I was always a doodler in school, but I never really thought of myself to be an artist. I don’t remember taking an art class in the seventh or eighth grade, but for some unknown reason, I decided to take it my last semester of ninth grade. More than likely, it was for elective credits only.

Not only did I not think of myself as an artist, I knew I couldn’t compete with those who had already been titled best of the best from the ninth-grade class.

I don’t remember much of the class until our final project. It was pen and ink, where we had to draw squares to outline a bottle and show shadows and highlights with the boxes. Self-confidence was not flowing from me, but I was happy with what I turned in.

After picking up my piece from the teacher and seeing that I got a B+, I was overjoyed, and I believe I made the following statement, “Oh great, I got a B+.”

Mrs. Curtis, my art teacher’s response was, “I guess I really didn’t like what I did very much. I didn’t care for how you drew the bottle, so I drew another one and pasted it on top of it. I’m not sure art is for you.” I was crushed and didn’t doodle or draw again for another fifteen years.

By 1986, while living in Los Angeles, I was sick of being a paralegal, but it paid well, and I didn’t know what else I’d do. Wanting nothing more than to be drawing, I decided to take a fashion illustration course at the Los Angeles Trade Technical College at night. Many famous costume and fashion designers had gotten their education there.

Driving from Century City to downtown Los Angeles on the first night of class I kept asking myself, “What in the hell are you doing?”

“What do you really expect to get out of this?”

“Why are you spending the money? This isn’t going to get you anywhere?”

As I pulled into the parking lot, I asked myself, “Why the hell not? If you don’t try, you will never know.” Walking into the classroom under my breath, I said, “You can do this, you can do this repeatedly.

This was long before computer illustration, so everything was done by hand. Other than black and white illustrations for newspaper ads, everything was done in watercolor. For assignments, we would copy ads from magazines and newspapers.

I’m sure back in that 1971 art class, we did something with watercolor, but I don’t remember. With a little practice, I became comfortable, and for the first graded assignment in watercolor, I got an A on my piece, with the words “WOW!”

Once we finished with watercolor, we went on to pencil illustration. All newspaper ads at the time were done with pencil. I loved working with pencil. It came very easy for me. I remember I copied an ad for furs, and when it was finished, I couldn’t believe what I had drawn. Unfortunately, it was accidentally thrown out around 1998.

By this time, I was getting A’s on everything I turned in, and that memory of someone telling me I had no business doing anything in art was starting to disappear.

For our final, we got to choose what medium we wanted to use. For some unknown reason, I choose watercolor. I was so much more comfortable with pencil. Consequently, I froze. In our last class, when we got our finals back, the teacher asked. “What the hell happened? You are so much better than this.” I had no answer and stopped drawing again. Playing repeatedly in my head, “Maybe Mrs. Curtis was right; I have no business in art.”

I left Los Angeles in 1989 and moved to Atlanta. While I was there, I investigated The Art Institute of Atlanta but couldn’t find a way to pay for it. I had no idea how I would go to school during the day and work at night. At one time, large law firms did have word processing departments that worked at night, but that was disappearing. Student loans shared the hell out of me.

After moving to Fort Lauderdale in 1991 and meeting and moving in with Darrell in 1992, I knew I had to make a change. I could no longer work in a profession that had drained everything I had in me. Something was burning deep in my soul that needed to come out.

The Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale offered a one-year night program for Graphic Design. It was a diploma degree because it didn’t offer math, English, and science courses. I didn’t care. I didn’t need them. I registered. Scared, but there was a feeling that I was heading in the right direction.

For one year, I worked thirty-five hours a week, and either was in class or studying another thirty-five hours in the same week. I had never been so happy. One class was cut and paste. My anal-retentive genes were working overtime. You must be so accurate. No glue showing, lines of type must be straight. How your paste-up looked is how the final project turned out. I loved every minute of it.

I found I loved doing scratchboard. What is scratchboard, you ask? It’s a form of direct engraving where you scratch off dark ink to reveal the white layer beneath. Again, I was also doing drawings with a pencil. Happy dance time.

But what found my devil and my heart at the same time was hand lettering. Hours were spent making sure each letter looked exactly as it did in my font sourcebook. And like that year back in Los Angeles, I was getting A’s in everything.

When I started the course, I was rough and tight. During portfolio review, the equivalent of a final exam for art students, one instructor came up to me and said, “You scared me for the longest time. I couldn’t understand why you were taking this program. You’ve found your art soul. Congratulations, you’ll do well.” That was 1993.

Fast forward to 2016, I won my first award by my peers for logo design. From 2017 – to 2019, those same peers awarded my designs in website design, book cover design, and product design.

I still hear those words, “I’m not sure art is for you.” But it gets easier and easier to turn and say, “SHUT THE HELL UP!”

My question to Mrs. Curtis, “Are you still not sure art is for me?”