I could say that my love for art began in the womb. My parents loved art. When they could not afford to buy good pieces of art they bought the books with wonderful art in them. As a child I stood in front of a Murillo painting and felt inspired by the feelings soaring in me. My parents took my brothers and I to museums on our vacations. We would wander in grand rooms with indescribable beauty. At the time we questioned why we were not running around outdoors. Why we had to spend so much time in the museums. The seed was planted and a love was born. A love that would grow with time. As a mom I attempted to plant the seed as well. Both my sons were toddlers when they were bitten by the bug. They both loved Picasso before they were three years old. I remember my older son walking into a London museum and confidently asking the security guard "excuse me but where can I find the Picasso exhibit?". I watched him with pride. Now that I am a mom one of my favorite art is made by my children. There is a painting my son had made for me while I was sick. The painting is now hanging in our kitchen. It has red hearts and a red hand print of his little toddler hand. I cherish the painting. I cherish my children. I cherish that they possess this love for art.