Who I am

I skipped straight ahead, without pause, on my first post. No better way to introduce myself, unleashing all parts of me at once. This is me. I am direct. I am shameless. I will tell every piece of my journey, if it helps another feel comfortable in their own skin. 

I could post a “curated” photo of myself, but let’s be real. I’m usually wearing a t-shirt, yoga pants, and no bra. I’m typically organizing and cleaning toys. Like this photo… I have no filter.

I’m the oldest. The oldest child and grandchild on both sides. I grew up in literal Mayberry, you will find it on a map when you type in my maiden name. The places of my childhood have been destroyed at least twice by tornado, or flood, or imminent domain. I can’t go back to reminisce. (Well, I can, but it’s ramps and bridges.) Many of the people that lived there aren’t earth side anymore, but their memory is held incredibly close.

I was likely lively as a young child. Mom says I tap danced down the aisles of Marsh the day I learned “sugar foots”. I remember circling the image of the “craft crap” in the JC Penney catalog every year for Christmas: feathers, sequins, jewels, paints, markers, pom poms, but it never arrived. I was that way as a primary teacher, not wanting a mess all over my classroom. My first child has not one shred of creativity in him, despite having been provided a Montessori art room full of “craft crap”. When my daughter started painting, I knew she was mine. 

I painted my first large piece of art in seventh grade. I had picked out an extra large tin of watercolors from the Warner Brothers store on Spring Break, and was showing my young cousin how you paint. I sat at a tiny wooden table, with one brush, and paper from under my Mamaw’s spare room bed. I gave my best Bob Ross impression as I quickly worked to replicate a painting on our wall. My mom took it to my middle school art teacher, and it won Best Painting at the Art Show. 

This painting has made it over 25 years without a frame, why add one now? I taped it to the wall in our media room recently, I like it there. I’m surprised when I look at it now, so many bold marks. Finlea paints this way: bold, unapologetic.

I started writing poetry around the same time. I had always danced and sang, but writing was new. I interpret the world in feelings and color. I can put words and shapes to them. In contrast to my math skills, I do not know numbers. On awards day in 8th grade, the art teacher said the loveliest things as she presented me with an award for fine arts. I don’t remember the words she said that day, but I’ll never forget that it meant she saw me for who I was. 

I’m not surprised I started my adult life as a teacher. I had always been a caregiver for my brother and sister, teaching wee worship at church, and babysitting on Friday nights. My teachers were, and still are, some of my favorite people. I have a clear, simple way of explaining, and appreciate the value of encouraging words. A few weeks ago, I had a message from a former student. I’ve been helping a bit, and she said, “When I got stressed, I thought about what Mrs. Stewart told me.” It’s not the breaking down and remediating of standards I’ve done that is important. It’s the clear message that her value to me would never be decided by a ridiculous test. I was bright eyed and idealistic in 2004 when I walked into my first classroom. I had a small desk “quote” calendar for teachers. and I’d saved one quote for years. “Teaching to the test creates learnoids.” I made a promise to myself, and when I could no longer bear the standardized, data driven wall I was pinning eight-year-olds on... I walked away. I was in the business of helping create humans. 

When I met my husband, Craig, he said, “I come with a motorcycle.” Quickly, I responded, “Well, I come with a craft room.” (For my “craft crap”. After college I took over a closet in my parents’ house, and my dad was constantly irritated by the “craft crap”.) My love for art had taken a backseat in high school, I was in show choir and too many dance classes. I did write a lot in high school, I took every Creative Writing class offered, and was encouraged by more than one English teacher. After college I started scrapbooking, I dabbled with making blankets and “faux” quilting, buying “craft crap”, and photography. It was between having my son and daughter that I started painting again.

I’ve had side businesses for photography and painting for several years, but this merging of art, photography, and writing is who I am. In the next two years of hauling my daughter to and from preschool, we’ll see if this pans out to “pay for insurance”. I return to words that an advisor once shared with me in college, “For one who continually sees the bright side, the silver lining should be yours.” Here’s to finding my silver lining.