I'm pretty sure I was born with the heart of an artist. I started taking piano lessons in 2nd grade. This of course turned into daily practice, weekly lessons, hours upon hours of scales and exercises and repeated one hands at a time until I made it through the entire beginner series, recital and theory books. Second grade seems like so long ago. Because it was. Not only did I play in 2nd grade, but all the way through 3 teachers, and into college where I studied to become a music teacher, band in particular. At a not so focused time in my life along with focusing primarily on playing the flute, the piano was a background notion to the pricey lessons and favoritism shown by certain flute professor.
In the long run in worked out because I am not a music teacher, nor a band director, I sold the flute but happily have my childhood piano in my home. I took out a box of music that has been packed up for at least 8 years and was able to sight read and play it so well, that my fingers would keep moving and my eyes would lose their place on the page. What does it mean today? It means I can play by ear as well. I can pick up a background song in a show I like and figure it out. I can bust out a 21-Pilots song from the Suicide Squad movie and at the same time pound the keys into submission with some Bach, or Rachmaninoff, or anything similar to it. It's fantastic.
So I did this the other night for a few hours non stop. It was amazing, and freeing, and exhilarating at the same time. What ensued was this journal page of wildly inspired bright colors and lots of white. Brushes in both hands and a freedom and happiness that has been lost for some time. Truly an original artwork by me, unprompted, except of course by the sound of music.