B. Lucy Stevens

I used to be a writer and a teacher, jobs I absolutely loved. But even back then some inner force always compelled me to draw. Which I did — in my reporter’s notebooks, in the margins of my students’ papers.

A few years ago the compulsion became so overpowering I had no choice but to put away my pencils and notebooks and pick up a paintbrush. (No more lined paper for me!)  Of course, fingers work just as good — sometimes better.  Also, sticks.

I paint by instinct. Each painting comes to life in its own way. Actually, I don’t have much control over the process. Out of nowhere a picture will pop into my head, as clear as if I’m seeing it on a movie screen. Other times I’ll be fiddling around with colors and shapes and suddenly, magically, an image emerges, like it’s always been there, waiting to come to out.  My job, the way I see it, is to help whatever it is come out, help it come to life.

I’m from up North, in Rhode Island, but I think in my heart I’m a Southerner.