The Origin of My Art Journey

We all have an art story—good or bad.

Maybe someone once criticized your artwork, and you vowed never to pick up a paintbrush again. Or perhaps doubt crept in, questioning your ability or the usefulness of making art at all. If you’re lucky, you’ve had people in your life who simply keep encouraging you to create and make things.

My story is a mix of both.

When I was around five years old, I tagged along with my aunt to a church meeting. I sat quietly with a small magnetic drawing board on my lap, happily drawing. One gentleman noticed my love for sketching. He must have been a creative himself, because he sat down and joined me. He even drew something on the board and asked me to guess what it was.

Later, he told my aunt that I should attend drawing classes.

And so, for the next decade, I spent most Saturday mornings drawing and painting. But my dream of becoming an artist was slowly set aside when I kept hearing the same refrain: artists don’t make money. Or worse—artists only become famous after they die.

So I chose a more “practical” creative path and became an architect.

I spent nearly two decades in that profession—working in Hong Kong and later in India, designing buildings and helping serve the poor. It was a rich and meaningful season, one that shaped how I see people, places, and beauty.

And then, eventually, I felt the quiet pull to return to painting.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just a gentle nudge—again and again—to make space for art.

So here I am.

Still learning. Still creating. Still believing that making art matters.

I’d love to hear your story too. How did your creative journey begin?

P.S. The drawing was of a big man kneeling on the floor, cleaning—yes, that’s his butt you’re seeing. The water bucket is on the left. 😄