When I grow up...

When I was a little girl, I was always told I could be anything I wanted to be.

One day, I was asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

When I said an Artist, I was surprised to hear, "Oh, they do not make any money."

All I knew is that an Artist is what I wanted to be.  Of course, I thought it was a little discouraging to hear from my elders that it wasn't a very lucrative choice.  So, I changed my announced profession to a writer.   Hopefully, they make money!  As I grew I realized that I write to express and I paint to escape.  I love both equally.  

When I became a young lady, I tried to find jobs that I could at least use one of my loves.  Most jobs I had utilized writing the most.  Then it was time to create a family.  Maybe, my most favourite masterpiece of all, my two lovely children.  Later, after surviving a divorce, I found a person that I fell in love with very deeply.  He romanced me like nobody's business.  From our first date, He sent me a dozen roses, weekly for one year.  In times we were apart, I still received roses.  One of those times, I sat at the kitchen table looking at how the afternoon light kissed the rose petals.  To me in that moment it was so beautiful, I had to capture the beauty as best as I could.  I found some paper and my children's water color paints and began.  

That was the beginning of the first time, in a long time, that I started to paint again. It felt wonderful.  To me, as I looked at the painting, I realized I would never capture the exact beauty of the flowers, although I marveled at my style.  What was truly satisfactory was the fact that the paper I was working on was previously blank.  Now, it was transforming into something beautiful.  How simple. What a lovely feeling it is that a blank piece of paper can be transformed into anything in your mind's eye.

When my romantic partner returned home, he saw my painting and insisted it belonged above our bed.  I found an old frame and we hung it there.  He later became my husband and the picture hung above our bed for many years.  Even as he became sick with a terminal illness.  The roses stayed above the bed he passed away in.  There is something so old-fashioned and sweet that the roses he sent to watch over me, would one day be there to watch over all of our life's changes together.  

Many years have passed from when myself, as a little girl announced that she wanted to be an artist.  I will never forget the first real picture that I created of those roses later in life.  They signify to me that being an artist is just a part of me, not something I want to be.  I guess that means I have finally grown up.   ~River Rose