Even though I consider writing my first voice, before I could write, art was the language I expressed myself with. I was always scribbling away and finding ways to tell stories with my squiggles. I probably started earlier than a year old because my Papa was an artist who loved having stationary and colors around while my Mama was a creative who loved making what she visualized from the needles and threads she sewed together. My parents loved to read so when I was born into that environment, the foundation of my path was already set. Along my journey to explore this gift, hands that once encouraged its growth broke my confidence little by little through socially acceptable methods of correction, not to mention the added stressors of being bullied at school and molested at different stages in my childhood and teenage years without having a reliable source to help navigate these traumatic situations found me separating myself from physical activities or even being able to connect on the same wavelength as most classmates my age except for three that I think of fondly. Two I lost contact with but always remember warmly and the third remains one of my dearest friends—Mrinalini, who is also an artist and creative herself. Though I often found myself befriending and feeling comfortable talking with older students, they would always be surprised to learn that I was several years younger. However, none of the negative experiences stopped my joy, love and appreciation for art because it was a language I didn't need to think much about, just express. It was so easy for me that I often downplayed or even didn't value it as much as I should have. I had trained my mind to see it as a hobby because I was aware that even if I wanted to study it further, it was not a feasible option with my economical background. Everyone who knew me in my studying years remember me as an artist. Not many knew I could write, least of all myself until the age of 12. I remember how much I loved to observe people, absorb what excited me and transform the passion of feelings, reflections and thoughts from my skin onto paper as easily as someone saying hello. When life happened, I resigned myself to getting busy being another worker bee in order to support my family. Gradually, I forgot my dreams and moved away from art, but not entirely. Of course. I couldn't completely remove it from my heart, as it showed up in the way I would go out of my way to organize birthdays for my team and friends to make them feel special. I also met some beautiful soul at my first job, some I lost touch with and others because they just got busy with life but each of them were some of the most artistic and creative people I met and we would write poetry, go out of our way to plan birthdays, make cards and pretend that life wouldn't shake the bonds we made. It wasn't realistic but you grow when you learn that certain friends are there for a season, a reason and a few remain for a lifetime. From my work life, I was delighted to formed a grand friendship in my dear friend—Shruti who shared a love for poetry, the arts, culture, travel, and of course, taste in books especially Georgette Heyer. It was only at the start of 2018, that I begin to evolve my art from paper sketches and paintings to learning how to do the same on a digital platform. I never knew why I felt so strongly about it except that I began to write equally passionately at the same time and when I joined Instagram (thanks to Shruti Sharma who motivated me to give it a try), it was like I had been peparing for that moment of entry into a world that I felt the most comfortable sharing my work, connecting with like minded souls and opening my heart a litte more, one day at a time.

​

Ever since then, my journey with art has only expanded into avenues I am still learning, growing and developing. Here are seven beautiful directions that the voices of my art gift have led me into.