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I've labored intensely as a fine artist and craftsperson since I was a small child. Taken out of school by a corrupted child protective services worker who had her own agenda, I was forced into craftwork and portraiture while adults plagiarized my art, changed my name, and stole my soul. Because the woman who singled me out worked for the very people that I had sought to help me escape from the torture I already experienced, I was trapped.
Not allowed to sign my own artwork, I hid my small mark in each piece. Even at the young age of 10, I knew I just couldn’t let that woman and her associates get away with the fraud even if it took forever I was still going to get credit for my work. If it was a figurative work, I placed my signature in the heart or the head area. Otherwise, it was in the lower right hand corner or anywhere else in the painting or drawing or design that I could manage to disguise it.
The manipulation and deception went on for years but stopped when she found another victim, an older male artist who had a greater payout than I did at the time. So, she dumped me, but not until after she destroyed my own identity as an artist. Where I had once used my artistic talents to cope with physical and sexual abuse, art had turned into a painful corruptive device aimed at me.
In my teens I was enrolled in art classes in school, and won several blue ribbon awards in local fairs and museums in Fresno and Sacramento California. But I had no respect for the artwork I produced after that so I let everything go. It was all either lost or stolen. A few things I wish I had back – an oil pastel portrait of a girl in blue that won a blue ribbon award in 1993 at the Fresno Fair entitled “Blue Sarah” and - a soft chalk pastel still-life entitled “Roller Skates and Wine Bottles”, which was on display at the Fresno Art Museum in 1994.
