1/26/2026

Art came back into my life early 2022.

Prior to that, the last time I picked up a paintbrush, or even used a pencil for expression was over a decade before.

As a little girl, I did not like dolls or barbies.

I couldn't care less about makeup or dress up costumes.

I lived for the smell of a fresh box of 8 crayons.

Oh, how I was jealous of the kids that got the box of 64 crayons.

You know the one, the one that included a sharpener.

I jumped at the chance to engage with anything crafty or artistic.

I loved teachers that would incorporate art into assignments.

In high school I met an art teacher who gave me unlimited access to her studio.

This was the first time I was exposed to so much more beyond crayons, pencils, and 99 cent store paint.

I ended up committing to 2 years of classes with her- I never ditched her class.

I have destroyed or tossed out most of the things I have made over the years.

I have been fighting this same persistent urge for the last four years.

I don't want another ten years to go by only for me to wonder where all my symbols have gone.

Not everything I make is aesthetically pleasing.

And sometimes it doesn't even make sense to me.

But I wonder if future me might be able to make sense of the hieroglyphics, I create today.

Or perhaps maybe the meaning I make of them will only gain more depth with time.

I spent years thoughtfully contemplating the art I permanently inked into my body.

The meaning attached to these symbols still resonates today.

Because they are declared so forcefully on my body. It's inevitable to continuously reflect on their meaning.

I now think there is a reason why I never got more.

The myth is complete with all four.