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Artist Biography
I was born in Canton, Ohio and moved to Licking County at age 5. My Parents are both native to
Licking County and we have ties to the community that reach back to some of the original settlers of
this area. At 12, my family began our cross-country journey; my father’s job moved us around every
few years. During high school I joined the National Guard and eventually moved to Iowa and married
one of my Army buddies. I attended the University of Iowa until I dropped out to drive a semi-truck.
It only took me half a million miles behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler to decide that what I really wanted was to be an artist. I have always had a creative streak, but I never allowed myself the pleasure of owning my art.
I began sewing as soon as I could pick up a needle and followed in the footsteps of both my grandmothers. I sewed doll clothes and then clothing for myself all throughout junior high and high school. One of my Grandmothers thought that I would become a clothing designer but I had the notion that one could never make a real living from art. So when I went to college I started studying engineering and then eventually changed my major to psychology.
But the most important class I took was an art class for non-majors where the instructor was nurturing and honest. The instructor asked me one day during a final project why I wasn’t an Art Major. I tried to brush her off by saying that art was just a fun pastime for me. She didn’t buy the answer and kept prodding. I left the class and didn’t think much about the incident until a few years later after I had dropped out of college for lack of drive to finish and for working too many jobs at once. I had simply stretched myself too thin.
My escape was a golden steed on 18 wheels. The funny thing is that behind the wheel, late at night, it is just you, the road and the thoughts rattling around in your skull. I liked the freedom of the road, the vagabond bohemianness of it all. Yet, it still wasn’t the “thing” I was looking for. After a few years I took a break from the road to work in the office, so I decided to continue my education and took a photography course along with required courses. Again I had to face the question, “Why aren’t you an artist?” Again I put it off. And again, behind the wheel, the thoughts in my skull started to churn around and stick together like a rich cream forming into butter. “Why not?”
I began to long for a way to express myself and still drive my truck. During an eventful trip to “Wally World” for supplies, I cruised the craft section (as I always do). I happened upon some beads and decided to buy a few things to try to recreate beadwork I had seen out west at shops on the Indian reservations. I had clumsily tried to work with beads in high school but never really did anything serious. I started experimenting and that’s all it took. I was addicted! Much to my co-driver’s dismay I started buying beads every chance I could. I bought magazines about beads and scanned the shop directories for shops in the areas we traveled. I quickly outgrew the tackle box I used to store my supplies.
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It only took me half a million miles behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler to decide that what I really wanted was to be an artist. I have always had a creative streak, but I never allowed myself the pleasure of owning my art.
I began sewing as soon as I could pick up a needle and followed in the footsteps of both my grandmothers. I sewed doll clothes and then clothing for myself all throughout junior high and high school. One of my Grandmothers thought that I would become a clothing designer but I had the notion that one could never make a real living from art. So when I went to college I started studying engineering and then eventually changed my major to psychology.
But the most important class I took was an art class for non-majors where the instructor was nurturing and honest. The instructor asked me one day during a final project why I wasn’t an Art Major. I tried to brush her off by saying that art was just a fun pastime for me. She didn’t buy the answer and kept prodding. I left the class and didn’t think much about the incident until a few years later after I had dropped out of college for lack of drive to finish and for working too many jobs at once. I had simply stretched myself too thin.
My escape was a golden steed on 18 wheels. The funny thing is that behind the wheel, late at night, it is just you, the road and the thoughts rattling around in your skull. I liked the freedom of the road, the vagabond bohemianness of it all. Yet, it still wasn’t the “thing” I was looking for. After a few years I took a break from the road to work in the office, so I decided to continue my education and took a photography course along with required courses. Again I had to face the question, “Why aren’t you an artist?” Again I put it off. And again, behind the wheel, the thoughts in my skull started to churn around and stick together like a rich cream forming into butter. “Why not?”
I began to long for a way to express myself and still drive my truck. During an eventful trip to “Wally World” for supplies, I cruised the craft section (as I always do). I happened upon some beads and decided to buy a few things to try to recreate beadwork I had seen out west at shops on the Indian reservations. I had clumsily tried to work with beads in high school but never really did anything serious. I started experimenting and that’s all it took. I was addicted! Much to my co-driver’s dismay I started buying beads every chance I could. I bought magazines about beads and scanned the shop directories for shops in the areas we traveled. I quickly outgrew the tackle box I used to store my supplies.
Next page
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