The Eighth Day of Christmas

On the eighth day of Christmas, my Father gave to me: gifts and talents that aid my sanity.

I didn't cultivate much of my artistic side while in school.  I minored in Art at BYU mostly out of obligation. I knew I had the talent, and I felt like I might disappoint Him if I didn't do something with it.  What I didn't understand then, is that art takes soul.  Artistic expression comes from deep down. So, merely taking a few classes didn't make me a true artist any more than eating food every day makes me a gourmet connoisseur.   The only really valuable thing I got out of my college education in art was a basic understanding and working knowledge of my materials--how to clean brushes and work with paint and such.  These skills gave me a foundation.

So, I forgot about painting and drawing for 4 years after I graduated. 

Then, we moved to Arizona.  All of a sudden I had an office/studio.  I had an easel.  I had no excuse.  Nor did I want one.  Something awoke within me and I started to actually crave painting.  And I've been doing it in my spare time ever since.  Too bad that "spare" time is so sparse, or I'd have quite a portfolio by now.   Instead I only have a dozen or so completed works, and half a dozen others that are in varying stages of completion. Ah well.  I've learned to love it, and that is probably what is most important when it comes to this particular gift of Christmas.