I love art. I was an Art Major in college. I wasn't a particularly talented artist. One of my art professor's parting shots (he wasn't my favorite for obvious reasons) said I really should have gone with Art Education. You know the old adage... He didn't didn't see me doing much with my art... Hmm. Kindly put, I know. To be fair he offered to write a letter of recommendation to graduate school if I wanted to pursue a masters in Art History. He was impressed with my ability to write about art. I didn't take him up on his offer.
I have found ways to use my fine art training in every job I had post-college. I won't detail it here, he'll never read my blog, so it really isn't necessary. But he's right I never "made a living" as an artist. But art is a daily part of my life.
I'm raising a couple of my own artists. I love, love, love their work. Perhaps it's my very deep appreciation for such artists as Helen Frankenthaler and Mark Rothko. They move me. I love color. I love the emotion that rises up into my throat every time I look at an explosion of colors, bleeding into each other. (Take a minute to google their images. Breathtaking.)