When I was six years old, and round as I was tall, my mom enrolled me at Marcia Dale Weary’s Dance Studio, which was to become the Central Pennsyivanla Youth Ballet - not a place for a chubby kid with no flexibility! Mom, sure I was destined to be a star in spite of my inability to impress Miss Marcia, whisked me off to piano lessons, where I fared much better, although I did not have the desire or genetics to become a virtuoso. I made my mom proud by playing in every recital and singing in every chorus concert through high school.
Mom was still proud of me – most of the time – when I fulfilled my youthful dream of singing in a band. I was in a few not-so-good bands and one really very good one, but like most bands, it broke up due to artistic (and spousal/significant other) differences . . . time passes . . . I had the performing time of my life in an acoustic trio with my husband, an amazingly great guitar player, arranger, singer, and wit and my ex-husband, an amazing bass player, great singer, and funny sweet man. We had a lot of fun, so we had a lot of fans. Then, I got old and my voice would not do what I expected it to do, so it was the end of the lively arts for me and I retired from singing.
Enter enameling, the perfect replacement medium for my singing career. It provides the drama and frustration of working with partners whose ideas are not always in line with mine, the versatility and variety of blues to Beethoven, and the pure joy of perfect 3-part harmony. When the trio performed, we played for the joy of making music – or a great inside joke on-stage. Though we were very happy to get paid, it was never just about the money. I enamel the same way; I create pieces that please me. I am delighted when someone buys one of my enamels, but I am happy to have them with me until they meet the right collector.