by Bari Benjamin

October 2014

As far back as I can remember when I learned to read and write, I longed to see my words on the printed page. My mother was an artist, an oil painter, so there were no coloring books for me. “Create your own pictures,” she would say, as she handed me bright, white sheets of paper and thick crayons. When I could write, she would say, “Tell your own stories.”

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by Bari Benjamin

October 2014

As far back as I can remember when I learned to read and write, I longed to see my words on the printed page. My mother was an artist, an oil painter, so there were no coloring books for me. “Create your own pictures,” she would say, as she handed me bright, white sheets of paper with thick crayons. When I could write, she would say, “Tell your own stories.”

Read More