Here's a little story: Through my job--the one I use to pay for food and lodging--I ended up working with a well-known Hungarian artist who made her way through the modern art world of the 40s, 50s, and 60s as an innovative painter of large, abstracted female figures. (When she turned 80, Tate Modern in London honored her by creating a special display of a few of her very large paintings.)

In my late 20s, and just after meeting this force of nature, I started making my first-ever sketches and drawings. One day she called me about a work thing. Before getting off that call I mentioned that I was making "pictures." In her best Zsa Zsa Gabor accent she said, "Oh daaahling, that's wonderful that you're making your little pictures." Then I said, "I feel like maybe I should take some classes--" She cut me off with, "Oh my good [expletive] lord no, they'll rrrrruin you!" She rolled that 'r' for at least 5 seconds. 

To make the scene complete, on the other end of that landline call she was sitting in a non-smoking university office with an unlit cigarette lodged between two fingers of her right hand--just like her NYT obituary photo. She was difficult and generous and I am forever grateful to her for the encouragement to create.

My first drawings and sketches were mostly abstracts. They were very gestural. Since I lived in Japan for a good long while, they owed a lot to Japanese calligraphy and super-flat decorative arts. 

But mostly they were a way to cope (details unnecessary). To make something that looked beautiful was a balm for my senses as well as my sense of self. And as the number of "little pictures" grew I felt more confident in my choices. 

My life/art mentor was wicked, irreverent, and wise. I think that's what she wanted to pass on to me. An attitude that squashes fear. She knew that creativity is a way to free yourself. So every day I practice some personal liberation by my making my "little pictures".