My Story
My journey started in third grade when my art teacher called me and a classmate to the front with our stained-glass windows.
“Which one looks better?" she asked the class. "Jeremy’s or Sterling’s?”
“Sterling’s.”
Each finger pointed to his perfect stained-glass, chiseled with toothpicks that I used to create spider webs across my black paper.
My heart was crushed.
From that point forward, I tried not to make mistakes. To color inside the lines.
As a child, I loved to draw cruise ships and create crazy-looking characters.
But I was afraid of messing up.
(Looking back, I’m shocked that my drawing of my favorite doctor won a contest at the Lexington pediatric office. See below and cringe.)
“Which one looks better?" she asked the class. "Jeremy’s or Sterling’s?”
“Sterling’s.”
Each finger pointed to his perfect stained-glass, chiseled with toothpicks that I used to create spider webs across my black paper.
My heart was crushed.
From that point forward, I tried not to make mistakes. To color inside the lines.
As a child, I loved to draw cruise ships and create crazy-looking characters.
But I was afraid of messing up.
(Looking back, I’m shocked that my drawing of my favorite doctor won a contest at the Lexington pediatric office. See below and cringe.)
It wasn’t until high school that my outlook changed with a kind art teacher named Dave Carter.
Dave painted (and still paints) the murals for Texas Roadhouse restaurants around the world.
He encouraged me to draw what I see, not what I think I see.
He taught me to throw my fear of failure out the window, because all artists start with something to mold, to refine, to erase, to add.
Aside from a few sketches of Meryl Streep, Lucille Ball, and Judy Garland, I didn’t do much art in college. I didn’t take any art classes except art history (to fulfill my general ed requirement).
It wasn’t until the fall of 2021 that I began to experiment with painting.
Water fascinated me, especially reflections. I decided to paint a cityscape reflected in water, and people liked it (or at least they did on Facebook and Instagram).
In the fall of 2022, my fear of failure made an entrance as I painted… until I figured out that I could cover my mistakes with a palette knife until I “got it right.”
I never imagined that this technique would become something that people enjoy, a sensory experience of art you can touch and feel.
At one of my first art fairs, a blind man came to my table with his wife and was able to experience art through touch, which I cherished.
Needless to say, I have learned that I don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be, either.
We are stained-glass windows through which the Light shines through the brokenness in our lives.
And that, my friend, is beautiful. Don’t you think?