I’m an accidental artist. My life does not follow the typical artist mold. I was on the faculty at a City University college as a counselor and then an administrator for 39 years. I've been a licensed psychologist in part time private practice since 1980. In fact, until the age of 37 I turned away from any opportunity to draw, paint etc. because my ninth-grade art teacher made it clear to me that I had no talent and gave me a C.

A defining moment in my development as artist was a high school reunion. I became very interested in mid-life transition; especially in women; and actually, made a 20-minute video on the topic. Interviewing women my age, I understood that successful mid-life transition involves second chances and new options for self-expression.

During that time, I would sit with my daughter as she was drawing, and doodle with her felt-tipped pens. I began to copy portraits in a Helmut Newton book of photographs. I started with charcoal, moved to pastels, then to watercolors; and finally, to working with oil paints (since 1993). Since that time, I actualized an important part of myself, as psychology and academia have not provided me with avenues for expression of my artistic sensibility. Most important, I discovered an arena for deep gratification.

One of the perks of getting older is gaining wisdom; and for me I’ve learned that one of the most important gifts one can give oneself is to develop the capacity to “create pockets of joy”. For me, making art is a major way of doing that.

My formal art education has been limited by my professional responsibilities. I started at the Art Students League in 1989 (during a six-month sabbatical) enrolling in a life drawing class. I remember being so nervous during those first few days of two-minute poses with nude models that my charcoal kept breaking. The majority of my classes were at The School of Visual Arts and The Fine Arts Center at the 92nd Street Y.

An ironic note in ending this artist biography. In fifth grade my mother enrolled us in a mother/daughter sculpture class taught by the late Louise Nevelson. My memory of the experience was being bored—making endless mazes of clay. Recently my mother mentioned that Louise Nevelson thought my work in that class was good.