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​Here’s a personal story about what fuels me — and this site.

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Last September, I organized a Remembrance for my mother, Valeria Belle Anderson, in Madison, Georgia.    She passed in California, shortly after turning 94.    We gathered at Plainview Baptist Church — her family’s church, built on land donated by her people, the Andrews.

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Being there felt like stepping into living mythology.

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The county museum has a permanent Andrews Gallery.   On the walls: mom's brother — my uncle Benny, the celebrated painter.  Written about, my uncle Raymond, the respected writer.

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But what stopped me was standing in front of my grandad George’s paintings, seeing them in-person for the first time.

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He painted his whole life – even when living in a shack.  In Madison, everyone knew that was just part of who G. was.   He worked.   He lived.   He made pictures.   No one considered his work ‘professional’  or 'art' –  until his sons became famous (undoubtedly inspired by him).   Now G's celebrated in the Gallery as 'The Dot Man'.

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He created simply because he had to.    Without spotlight,  no promise of anything.   He created 'cause he needed to speak his language -- the one he was inventing -- and doing so made him whole.   

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Standing before G's colorful,  wild expression  —  I knew, and  claimed it.     The same current is alive in me.  And I know how to help release it in other working-class people like me .   

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We need to share what we feel called to express — not for money or recognition (though that very nice) --  but to become whole to ourselves.  - Trayce