The house the creatives lived in

One thing I've noticed since living on my own is this UNDYING, BURNING need to create. It's as if the creative within me has witheld every impulse to create. Every idea, every desire. Lately, though, I've felt an overwhelming need to get images out of my head and onto paper. Lack of artistic skill be damned!

So I have given myself permission to create art, even poorly. I'm creating with words, but also with art. I have NEVER taken a class on how to draw (the only art class I've taken is Ceramics in high school and History of Modern Art in college), and I've been told my work isn't that...great. I've also been told to stick to writing! LOL But I can't deny the images in my mind. Images which I eventually transpose onto paper, using pencils, colored pencils, markers, paints, crayons. Just, anything.

My daughter has always been the artist. Ever since she was little, she has created art, one way or another! I still have pictures she drew as a toddler. They are TOO cute! But, anyway. Yeah. She's always been the one doing the art. Now we both do it. Sometimes we'll camp out on the floor or sit at the table, passing the time with drawing. Sometimes she'll draw a picture specifically for me and I'll do the same for her. And even though I'm not very good at art, she loves what I draw for her, anyway.

This has also happened in reverse. She's always been curious about my writing. She's grown an obvious love of books, as I have. And we even collabed on a children's story. I wrote it, she drew it. Which was also a very cool experience.

It's obvious both of us will have a strong love for arts and literature, which isn't surprising since I come from a family of artists and writers. It's actually pretty cool. The writing parent inspiring the child to write. The artistic child inspiring the parent to draw. Definitely something to take pride in -- and enjoy.