How I Found My Way Back to Art (With a Leaf and a Stuffed Alligator)
I have an MFA, and here I am…perfecting the fine art of crayon rubbing.
All that education, all those years of crits and theory, and lately my studio practice looks like paper ripping, gluing collages, and hunting for the most colorful leaves to rub like a devoted kindergartener. Sometimes I catch myself outside, scanning the ground with the same intensity I had at age five—trying to find the biggest leaf to impress my teacher, Ms. Whitney.
I remember the exact moment: the playground pavement, the crisp fall air, the satisfaction of spotting a leaf as big as my face. My tiny hand stretched out as I ran to her, breathless: “Look, Ms. Whitney! I found this for YOU!” I was so proud I could burst.
Back then, art felt simple and spontaneous.
Later, it became something more serious. I used to stay up past midnight screen printing yards of fabric or ripping apart pants for the third time just to sew the “perfect” zipper for a pair of striped bell-bottoms. (I wish I had saved those, they fit seamlessly, pun intended.)
That level of obsession and desire to push myself got me to grad school. And grad school was amazing on many levels. It was a challenge I needed and it wasn’t something I thought it could do.
Over time, life has a way of altering your definition of “what matters.”
Later, it became something more serious. I used to stay up past midnight screen printing yards of fabric or ripping apart pants for the third time just to sew the “perfect” zipper for a pair of striped bell-bottoms. (I wish I had saved those, they fit seamlessly, pun intended.)
That level of obsession and desire to push myself got me to grad school. And grad school was amazing on many levels. It was a challenge I needed and it wasn’t something I thought it could do.
In fact, I’ve started a new project that involves having conversations with a stuffed alligator. (Don’t worry, I’m not losing my mind.) I’m just finally putting myself out there with things I’ve always done, just not so publicly. Thanks to my kids, I new I should give it a try. It feels like grad school again: putting out new work and letting strangers form opinions. I have to remind myself why vulnerability, although so uncomfortable, is really necessary.
Now I have more perspective. I’ve lived enough life to know that joy is worth protecting and time is not endless. Following what lights you up no matter how silly or unserious it looks, is worth it!
I’m not a professor tucked inside an art department. I’m a puppeteer, an artist, a teacher for anyone who wants to learn. I’m making my own audience now, one curious person at a time. Will this work? I have no idea. It feels terrifying and thrilling, like a cliffhanger I get to live inside of.
But the worst that can happen is that I learn more about myself and get closer to what I’m meant to do.
And here’s what I do know: You’re meant to make things, too.
Maybe not visual art. Maybe not with crayons or stuffed alligators. But I’ve never met someone who wasn’t craving more creativity in their life. And the thing that makes it so hard? You have to face yourself. You have to meet the part of you that still wants to make something, even if it feels absurd.
Crayon rubbings and stuffed animals. That’s one combination! But that’s where I’m finding having fun right now.
And if even one kid (or one adult) sees this and thinks, “Maybe I’ll try making something today,” then it’s already worth it.