My formal training was mercifully short. At sixteen I was enrolled at the Skola Primijenjene Umjetnosti i Dizajna in Zagreb when my parents took us to live in Croatia. The prospect of finally going to an art school was exciting beyond words. Very few new students were accepted each year and I had the good fortune to be one of them.

However, I had already been rebelling against school for some years and it wasn't long before even art school felt crushing. Although I was there willingly, I couldn't believe that my teachers had the audacity to put any restrictions on me whatsoever regarding how and what I was going to paint. Clearly, I wasn't going to be a good student. After I got over feeling ungrateful, I started skipping classes and, eventually, stopped going altogether. Waves of relief flooded through me when I regained the freedom to draw and paint on my own.   One afternoon, when I was seventeen, I made the unwavering commitment to embark upon my life as a painter. This isn't as far fetched as it might sound. All my life I had access to my mother's studio. She's an amazing painter. One of the greatest gifts which I received from her was that she taught me to draw what I really see and not what I think I see. As a kid, I remember painting in her studio an often bursting into tears from the sheer frustration of being unable to make something work to my satisfaction. Without my mother's encouragement I may well have given up. Instead, I learned to persevere and find solutions.

With this strong foundation, and a vast amount of self-discipline and innocence, I was determined to make a living as a painter. Of course, it was far from easy! Thankfully, right from the beginning, there were people who loved my work. I had shows, commissions, and private sales. And, this happened despite the dreadful difficulty I had in speaking to people about my work. Making phone calls for appointments just about killed me! I congratulate myself for every call I ever made.   All I wanted was to paint all day. I needed a place to live. I needed to paint. I didn't care about anything else. For years my fortunes vacillated between broke and very broke. I just didn't care because I was managing, albeit barely. It's true that I'd wistfully look at grapes when all I could afford was cabbage. But, that's just the way it was if I wanted to buy that desperately needed new brush.   I'd be lying if I said there weren't times when I was sick with worrying about how I was going to make it through the month. Nevertheless, I considered my life to be wildly successful because I was painting, and painting is what I'd set out to do.   Gradually, the contacts grew. Through exhibitions and word-of-mouth, I met more and more people who began collecting my work. And, here I am today still painting full time, living in Turkey these days, and finding inspiration everywhere. This very abbreviated story of my painting life wouldn't be complete without mentioning my family and friends. The positive effects of their support and generosity over the years cannot possibly be overstated. It's with immense gratitude that I thank each one of them for being in my life.

Recently, I found this little painting that my mother did of me and my friend, Lori. We were always drawing!  There were three of us in the neighbourhood who were obsessed with drawing, Lori, Pam, and I. We drew during classes, whenever we could get away with it, since we determined it was easy to listen to the teacher and draw at the same time. We were always welcome to work in my mom's studio. She would help us with our watercolours and when we suddenly had the notion to do  oil paintings, she was game to show us how. There was always a feeling in the studio that we could accomplish anything to which we set our minds.

This is a painting my mom did of me while we traveled through England on our way back to Canada after living in Zagreb.  I was seventeen at the time and  I was just weeks away from making the momentous decision to become a painter for the rest of my life.  It seemed inevitable that I would have a career in the arts. Although I had a longstanding interest in visual arts since I was a child,  in my early teens I had taken acting classes and considered working in the theatre. But, painting was making a steady ascent and soon overshadowed my other interests. I remember the very moment when I decided that painting would be my life.  At this time I was living with four friends in a little  apartment above a shop, where my bedroom was also my studio. My obsession with painting was only growing by the day. I remember  thinking, "This is all I want." And, I had the distinct knowledge that if I wanted this then I must paint each and everyday and never wait for inspiration to find me. I must only work and the inspiration would take care of itself. Far from finding this daunting, I knew I could work this hard. I was committed with my heart and soul. I am deeply grateful that this desire to paint is always with me.

We are living in Turkey this year. In November we spent a few days in the town of Goreme.This town is situated in the region of Cappadocia, famous for it's ancient dwellings carved both into the cliffs and into the natural towers made of rock. This was an amazing place and, although I spent a lot of time drawing, I only captured a small taste of the wonders of the place.   I have a huge collection of paintings and sketches that I have done while traveling. One could say that I am obsessive about recording all the intriguing and beautiful things I see.  A short list of subjects in my collection includes: fountains, iguanas, mountains, goldfish, horses, peacocks, snakes, a road kill dragon fly, a dead turtle, coral, oceans, flowers, clouds, and catfish. Because I don't work from photos, these hundreds upon hundreds of paintings and drawings are truly invaluable to me as I work in my studio. For example,  if I need to know what a boa contrictor looks like, I"ll go and find the drawing I did of one while in the mangroves of San Blas.    To read Terrible Beauty, an article written about my work, click here