I tried the link for phones but nothing has been sent?! Any advice?? I can't believe how talented you are! I love every picture you have painted. Thanks for sending me a positive note about my art on the VAE site. I'll share myphilosophy of lifewith you: As the Taoist sage said to the hot dog vendor, "Make me one with everything." Bibi was born at the Employment Security office in Raleigh, and raised by feral dogs. That would be her grandmother's assessment, accusing Bibi's parents of leaving the kids to "root pig or die." She was expelled from Our Lady of Lourdes School in eighth grade, not so much for bringing a thermos of wine as for sassing Sister Miriam Regina, who did not believe Bibi's water-into-wine "miracle" explanation, and asked what Bibi planned to do with her life since no one would marry or hire a sassy girl with a poor attitude, let alone buy the crayon scribblings that Bibi passed off as "projects." Bibi's reply that she saw nothing left but to become a nun was badly received, so she was sent away to NCSU where she audited her father's nuclear physics class, painting water color psychodelia in the last row and meeting cute new pot connections while her father scrawled incomprehensible equations on the blackboard under a plastic no-smoking sign, a Winston bobbing in his lips as he taught. After barely managing to attend enough classes at Broughton to qualify for graduation even with excellent grades in Latin and advanced English, without mentioning other less important courses inanely required for college prep., Bibi had a false start in chemistry at NCSU which allowed her permission to forget about her father's dream of a scientist daughter, and voraciously pursue her own deep love of all that ECU stood for in the seventies. She still maintains that her acceptance letter to the School of Art was printed on blotter, and her diploma on Big Bambu, but is unable at this time to produce the original documents. Her vague memories of what she calls her eight "institutional years" are highlighted by recollections of her favorite professors and mentors, Paul Hartley and Wes Crawley, both now deceased. From grad school, Bibi left her second husband for Peru via Richmond on the heels of an itinerant accordion player, and led the ultimate bohemian life of any other expatriated artist-slash-bon-vivant-slash-sans-culotte, up until the day she was kidnapped by the psychopathic terrorist who was to become her third husband and dna donor for both her daughters, Bianca and Celeste. Mayhem ensued for the next couple of years until her Peru decade came to a monumental end with the help of a television reporter, a gypsy woman, and an Ecuadorian former lover. Crossing the border into Ecuador at Huaquillas,undocumented and on foot,carrying two babies and a diaper-bag in the midst of that border skirmish over oil rights is the subject of one of Bibi's several unpublished comedies. Since returning to Raleigh in 1993, Bibi has worked as a judiciary interpreter for the state court system in North Carolina, rubbing elbows on a daily basis with murderers, drug traffickers, rapists, attorneys, judges, and all their ilk. That, teaching catechism back at Our Lady of Lourdes, and raising two beautiful daughters unassisted, took up most of her time for the next decade and a half, but she continued painting sporadically so as to offer gifts at Christmas and birthdays that could compete with the lavish ones purchased by her richer brothers, Buddy and Bobby, one the scientist her father always wanted, the other a television producer her mother worships as the Second Coming. Once ICE began running her clientele into virtual oblivion, and her daughters had become mothers themselves, Bibi returned full-time to art with vengeance. She lives in Raleigh and paints in a corner of her kitchen affectionately known to local law enforcement as the "winery," often while caring for one of her fabulous grandchildren, Donovan and Diamony, or alternately, while drinking her homemade wine and listening to NPR. She is fatally addicted to facebook, and occasionally writes humorous Southern Gothic stories based on facts and friends, but which she insists (with a sly wink) are "nothing but huge packs of lies, sugar." So far, not one "character" has sued. Commissions for paintings are welcomed.