Without Art, I'm Not Fully Me

My first job in high school began with a summer day camp at Como Zoo and Conservatory in Saint Paul. A few friends and I — all 14 year old freshmen — were helpers for a group of grade school campers. In the mornings, we’d do a variety of jobs around the zoo — mostly horticultural tasks. We planted a community vegetable garden, tended to a butterfly garden, managed the compost, and helped look after all of the flowers planted between various outdoor animal habitats. In the afternoons, we worked on various art projects with the Conservatory’s resident artist, Mark. He often gave us time to simply bask in the beautiful sun shining through frosted glass, sketching on large drawing pads, surrounded by gorgeous, gleaming plants. I’d been raised in a severely dysfunctional, strictly evangelical and impoverished home where I was often isolated like a plant that got no sun. Up until then, most of my weekends and holidays were spent home alone in my room. Even in grade school, when my older sister was still living at home, my mom was usually sleeping when I returned home from school to our dark apartment. We weren’t allowed to turn on lights or make noise until Mom woke up and said it was okay. If we accidentally made too much noise, she’d scream and accuse us of trying to make her headaches worse. <a href="https://medium.com/grief-book-club/art-is-fundamental-b50640cf97dd">Visit Now</a>