My Passion, My Voice, My Path To Inner Peace

Back, way back, when I was a wee lad, I dared to dream of being an artist. Yes, it's a big dream. Imagine having art collected around the world. That's a tall order. I tell you what, though, I'm sure glad little me wasn't afraid to dream big. Fast forward to today and you'll find I did become an artist with work collected around the world. It's an amazing life I lead. But, alas, it's not all fairytales and gumdrops.

I was 8 years old, a hyper and mischevious child, and was getting into trouble at school and in my neighbourhood. I was living in a divorced home with my mother and 5-year-older sister. Mom won custody and I was missing my father. So, I was the class clown and a general pain in the rump. That's fairly common, but what wasn't all that common was that I had a rather unique vision, ability and ambition for art. I would be belly down on my bedroom floor, with my wonderful Spider-Man comic. I was fascinated by how the artist would draw the super heroes, the muscular builds, shading and so on. Later, I decided to try my hand. Yes, I attempted to draw Spider-Man. To my delight, he didn't turn out too bad at all! I felt elated. My God, maybe I could be an artist. Over the years I kept drawing, honing the craft, finding my style, and allowing my inner voice to emerge in MY art. I eventually took this into fine art painting and never looked back.

Nowadays I have the awesome life of a successful artist with an international following. Painting, to me, is therapy. Yes, I went through a lot as a kid, dealing with the divorce, not doing very well in school, getting into trouble, being misunderstood for years, and going through a multitude of trials. But, my art stayed with me along the way, edging me on, giving me purpose and drive, and keeping me focused on something that was important to me. I got to translate my inner turmoil onto a canvas, into paint, and have it become expression that people related to. People began to collect my art. This gave me a joy that will live deep within me forever. I get to meet amazing and interesting people. No longer do I feel like just a voice in the dark, misunderstood, or judged wrongly. I feel so very lucky to have this life and success, but I also never forget where I come from. I'm Carl from a little place in eastern Canada. My parents divorced when I was 4. I didn't make high marks in school. I wasn't very popular. But you know what? I kept believing in myself, I kept my dream alive, I worked my tail off, and now I get to enjoy the fruits of my labours. Believe me, I enjoy every single minute.

When you're from a divorced home, 4 years old, a sensitive and imaginative child, and your father is almost like a super hero, childhood is rough. I remember one hurtful comment from a little girl who lived next door. She asked why I didn't have a father. Whether she had mean intentions or not, it cut deep. It really bothered me. I was around 6 at the time. I would miss my dad, terribly. I would be in my bed, about to try and go to sleep and sometimes I would cry. Being afraid of the dark piled on more anxiety. I would gather all my stuffed animals around me on the bed, as they provided some comfort and safety. There was my great imagination. Sometimes the animals didn't do the trick and my imagination would keep me awake. I would picture a bad man or monster under my bed or the same in the closet. Often I'd be out on the hallway stairs, late at night, mom and sis asleep, just the dark, still lonely night stretching out slowly. It was awful.

As I mentioned earlier, I struggled in school. I guess that's no surprise. Add to it the fact I stuttered terribly. Of course, I was made fun of. I wonder if those experiences made me stronger or gave me a hermit-type personality. To this day, I prefer to be alone, paint my pictures with my music, and just drift away.

Looking back on everything I went through, I have to say now that a part of me is glad I did go through the trials. I think it probably does give us a certain strength and wisdom, those war wounds, and afterall, everything goes into us. Everything we experience, good and bad, shapes us. It makes us who we are, it gives us our chops and character. For an artist like myself, it even gives forth fruit in terms of food for ideas and emotional painting. That sort of fuel is unique and powerful. On some level, it's priceless.

I think back and picture that little boy that was afraid, hurting and confused. I've gotten to know him again in a healthy way. I took him by the hand and asked him to forgive me for the negative things I did. He smiled at me and forgave me. I keep him with me all the time now. He helps me paint and reminds me what I find really important. The value of the child within involves staying young of mind and certainly of heart. The child does not lie. Thank you, little Carl.