When I sit on my porch, when I go on vacation, when I catch a glimpse of the light reflecting from my toddler’s eyes, I can only see one thing.
Since I was young, I have had such a draw to the world. This is one of the reasons I have always been inspired to travel. Soaking up a new destination, reveling in every detail my eyes can find, it’s always been a thrill to me like no other. That feeling of lure draws me into memorizing fleeting moments before they are gone. I’m captivated by the wrinkles in a baby’s soles, the foam that washes up on the shore, the hole of a leaf left by a hungry bug, the stain on a child’s hands after a muddy adventure, things that are overlooked by the quick eye, but appreciated by the reverent watcher. The world is my muse. Each time my focus is pulled to a fluttering feature, I begin to picture how to recreate it with my hands. My mind begins to rationalize which medium the moment would be best eternalized by- sculpture, paint, ink, a photograph. Sometimes a detail is deserving of more than one rendition. Usually, as a creator, I can’t do the image justice, the world is too fascinating to be captured perfectly. Still, knowing my soul yearns to recreate the beauty bestowed upon this life, I etch memories and colors into my imagination, stored away as an ever-growing bank of inspiration. When I sit on my porch, when I go on vacation, when I catch a glimpse of the light reflecting from my toddler’s eyes, I can only see one thing. I see the spark of my next piece waiting for me to chase the fervor.