Trees Don’t Look Like Lollypops
Photo by Cottonbro Studio
What’s on my mind?
I’ve always had an artistic bent. Creativity has shaped my life, influenced by a bit of ADHD and a mother with a degree in design from UC Berkeley.
Mom never pushed me into art. Instead, it became a natural part of my life. Her background in design, especially textiles, made our homes beautiful and comfortable, no matter where we lived in the world. She loved fine art, had favorite artists, and was well-versed in art history.
Mom encouraged my art by providing endless drawing supplies. Because I often wasted paper if my first mark wasn’t perfect, she switched from tablets to reams of cheap newsprint to keep up with my ADHD.
The only art lesson I remember from Mom was when she taught me how to draw a tree. She pointed out the window and said, “See that tree? Always draw a tree as it grows, from the ground up to the sky, from the branches out to the leaves.” She always commented that my trees looked more like lollipops.
In grade school, my ADHD made it hard to get good grades, and report cards were always critical. Teachers labeled me “uninterested” and “easily distracted.”
Everything changed when I met redheaded Ethel on the playground at Beardsley Elementary School. She was a Special Ed student, an artist, and a self-proclaimed environmentalist. Drawing lively panoramas of grazing deer, raccoons, birds, and smoke-belching factories in the dirt with a stick, she changed my life.
I spent recess drawing with Ethel and campaigning to kids in line for tetherball to save Mother Earth. My teacher noticed my changed focus in class and wrote in my report card that art might be key for me.
She was right.
My bent continued to grow. When I was twelve, my family lived in Tarbela, Pakistan. There, I started creating and selling poster-board paintings by copying greeting-card drawings, which amazed the unartistic public. Later, as a teenager at boarding school in Murree, I learned observational drawing. Mr. Mason taught me that drawing from life was better than relying on my parlor tricks.
He was right.
My sense of direction wavered when my parents moved to Thailand during my late teens, and I started boarding school in Malaysia. There were no art classes, especially for someone like me who dreamed of being a cartoonist or Disney animator. One day, a guest speaker from Hanna-Barbera visited our school for Spiritual Emphasis Week. Proudly, I showed him my cartoon characters, expecting an immediate offer of a glorious future in animation. He quickly browsed my examples and politely said, “Keep at it. If you’re ever in LA, stop by for a tour.” Even then, I knew what he meant, and that dream died on the spot.
He was right.
After struggling academically in high school, I returned to California and enrolled at Bakersfield College, where I started from scratch and majored in fine arts. Inspired by my professors, I wanted to become an art teacher and inspire others. I enjoyed and excelled in all my art classes, especially glassblowing. My professor thought I should go to art school and pursue a career as a glassblower. My parents, who had moved to Venezuela, shared concerns in a lengthly letter, and the subject was dropped.
They were definitely right.
I transferred to the California College of the Arts in Oakland with the intention of becoming a college art professor. But that all changed in a single afternoon.
After visiting a senior graphic design exhibition on campus after signing up for teaching classes, I immediately switched majors. I’d never seen anything like it: type, grids, design, color, and images coming together so powerfully, clean, and professional. In that moment, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up: a Graphic Designer.
And I was right.
Later, when Mom visited me at college, I showed her my budding portfolio. I never felt she was impressed by my work. Perhaps she viewed graphic design as merely a commercial art form, not as respected as fine art. Dad, on the other hand, was just happy I found a way to support myself after college so he wouldn’t have to.
Mom came to my art school graduation. I could tell she was pleased as she hugged me and handed me a $500 check. “Go buy yourself a nice drafting table and chair when you get settled. You earned it,” she said.
The next day, she flew back to the Dominican Republic, where my parents were living at the time. I stood in the quiet that followed, suddenly aware that I was a college graduate. It felt like the end of one chapter and the uncertain, exhilarating start of another.
My first job was as a graphic designer in an advertising agency. In the interview, I took a gamble during the pause after showing my portfolio and said I’d empty the trash cans for the opportunity to join their team.
I was right.
They say a real education begins after college, and I think that’s true. Whenever discouragement crept in, I’d retreat to my drafting table in my bedroom after a hard day at work. My college degree hung on the wall, a quiet reminder of what I’d accomplished, and I felt steady again. Life wasn’t guaranteed to be easy, but I was independent, charting my own path with creativity, ADHD, resilience, and the stubborn moxie to keep moving forward.
Mom said, “Trees don’t look like lollipops; they’re intricate, unpredictable, and one-of-a-kind.”
Like me.
She was definitely right.
