I loved my Barbie Dolls so much; I had two of them. My grandmother made wonderful clothes for the dolls but I secretly loved my Barbie’s store-bought ones better. They more clearly accentuated Barbie’s perfection. Her long, slender legs, perfect waist and bust-line, her gorgeous fashionable hair and expensive, chic clothes promised popularity, acceptance, and happiness forever. I wanted to be Barbie-gorgeous, clothed in store-bought perfection, popular, loved, accepted and happy with her ever present smile.
I still long to be Barbie — perfect and loved. It took a long time for me to balance this hope with the reality of who I am truly am — a dirty, messy, brooding, creative, and misunderstood female artist.
I feel most alive as an artist.
