My healing path through art began a few years ago with the death of my dad. I had always been more of a writer and had journaled since my early 20’s. I put my deepest thoughts and feelings in notebook after notebook.

When my dad died I could not express myself in writing. It was like my thoughts and emotions were frozen inside and that form of expression was a closed door for a season. I had always wanted to try painting, but was too afraid to try.

There was a woman in her 70’s in town who gave art lessons, and only for $5.00 per session. Imagine? She was a God-send because she allowed me to try things even she had never tried. I used sand, rocks, cob web, anything I could get my hands on; perhaps because I couldn’t get my mind around all that had happened with my dad’s sudden death.

Texture, abstraction, paint and paper gave me a place where nothing had to make sense. My art didn’t have to look like anything, because my life certainly didn’t look like anything I would have imagined it would. Art served as a container for all that I was feeling.

Also, that 3 hours a week was about the only 3 hours when I did not think about my dad, his death, my mom and her grief, and all the questions – my dad’s death was a suicide. Doris Currier’s basement became a refuge for me where I could explore, grieve and heal in my own way.

Now, art is different for me. It allows me to express my love for color, to explore and take risks, and to continue my healing. It has become a part of my life, instead of a way to grieve death.