Artist Bio

Hello, my name is Corrine Anderson, though most people have called me Corrie since I can remember. I’ve spent my entire life in New England, and while I can’t imagine leaving anytime soon, I’m curious to see where life takes me. Growing up in Massachusetts filled me with a sense of wonder. As a child, I spent countless hours outdoors, and those experiences sparked my creativity in ways I never expected.

I started drawing when I was four years old, and I can trace my first real inspiration back to dinosaurs. To put it mildly, I was obsessed. I knew all their names, their sizes, the periods they lived in—everything. Family events became interesting when relatives would talk to me, only for me to enthusiastically go on about my dinosaur knowledge. Dinosaurs pushed me to think abstractly. I had all the books and used them as references when learning to draw. What fascinated me most was that, even now, we don’t truly know what dinosaurs looked like, and that uncertainty gave my imagination free rein. I invented powers for them, created names, and designed abstract landscapes where they lived. I was fully immersed in my own world of creation, and I never stopped.

I had a good childhood, supported by parents who accepted me fully and embraced who I was. Without their encouragement, I wouldn’t be where I am today—especially as an artist. As I entered my teenage years, drawing became my escape from reality. Let’s just say I had my “angsty” phase, listening to hardcore music and abandoning my usual classic rock for something darker and deeper. Yet, my love for dinosaurs—and for drawing them—never faded.

As I grew older, my skills as an artist grew as well, especially in terms of conceptualizing my work. I began taking a more realistic approach, drawing portraits, and experimenting with surrealist concepts. At the time, I had no idea what surrealism was, but I was just drawing what I felt, and that was enough. Art became my emotional outlet. Like most teenagers, I struggled to express my feelings, but my art did it for me. I was the “emo kid with a pencil and paper”—and, let’s be honest, I still am!

School wasn’t a priority for me. Academics didn’t interest me, and art was the only thing that mattered. I barely made it through high school and had no desire to go to college. That was my mindset until my mom introduced me to the idea of art therapy. I had never heard of it before, but it piqued my interest, and after doing some research, I was amazed. Art therapy embodied everything I believed about the healing power of art. Art had saved me as a teenager; it gave me purpose and helped me keep going. For the first time, college felt like a real option. I decided to pursue an art therapy program at Endicott College, though I was nervous about fitting in. I’d always been “the weird dinosaur kid,” then “the weird emo art girl.” The art department at my school was small, and the art therapy class was even smaller. But I’m happy to say that it was there I made some of my closest friends, and we’ve supported each other ever since.

College turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life. It gave me the opportunity to be surrounded by like-minded individuals, and I fully embraced the art-focused classes. The academic ones were more challenging for me, but I still gave them my best. It was during this time that I discovered painting.

To be honest, when I first started painting, I hated it. My loyalty to graphite was strong, and I couldn’t understand why anyone would need color. How very “emo” of me, right? I dragged my feet through my Painting I course, where we practiced the basics—landscapes and still lifes from photos. I found it boring. I’ve always loved storytelling through art, and realism wasn’t my niche. I get that storytelling can happen within realism, but when you’re painting a leaf just to learn how to mix paint, or a mountain scene just to practice perspective, it felt too repetitive for me. I wanted more freedom. And I was dreading Painting II, knowing I’d have to take it. But I was completely wrong.

When our professor returned from sabbatical, she made a huge impact on me. She was tough but in the best possible way. I’ll never forget the first day of Painting II when she told us straight up: “If you don’t care about your art, don’t bother taking this class.” That speech was like a locker room pep talk before a big game, and I was all in. Our first assignment was to create two self-portraits, with total creative freedom. I was thrilled and immediately began sketching ideas. But when I showed my professor my sketches, I was nervous. She squinted, looked at me, and asked, “What’s your name?” When I told her, she said, “Alright, Corrie, nice to meet you. I expect big things from you.” I’ll never forget that moment—it pushed me to prove her right.

That project marked the beginning of my love for painting. Finally, I had the chance to express myself and tell a story. I fell in love with color, and that passion has stayed with me ever since. College gave me so many memories, but that was a defining moment in my artistic journey. It was like a switch flipped, and I became a completely different artist.

So here I am today, looking back on my time in college with gratitude. I formed lifelong friendships, learned invaluable lessons, and grew tremendously as an artist. I also found a fulfilling career in ABA therapy, a field I stumbled upon during my internship. Art therapy internships are hard to come by, so I adapted. A good friend of mine introduced me to ABA therapy, and I quickly fell in love with the work and the people. I’ve now worked with the special needs community for six years, and I’ve learned so much from my students. Their lessons in acceptance, compassion, and patience have shaped me in ways I never expected. The positivity in this community is unmatched, and I’ve laughed more than I ever thought possible.

However, I am still an artist at heart. Although I find great fulfillment in my work, there’s a part of me that feels incomplete. Since graduating, I’ve continued making art, but it’s taken a back seat to other aspects of my life—until now.

I’ve made the decision to pursue my dream. Art is who I am, and no amount of external distractions can replace it. I’m happiest when I’m creating, when I’m conceptualizing new worlds and exploring beyond the boundaries of reality. I want to share that passion with the world, teaching others how to harness the power of art. Art therapy will always be close to my heart, as I want to help people discover the freedom of expression that’s slowly disappearing from the world. While I’ll continue my work in ABA therapy for now, I know that I must follow my artistic dreams. I owe it to my younger self—the one wearing dinosaur shirts, cargo shorts, and sketchers, with a sketchbook in hand. I know she’d be proud of who I’ve become, but I also know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to make this dream a reality.

I want to make art every day. I want to teach people how art can change lives. I want to make a positive impact, and I truly believe that anything is possible through art. So, why not?

Thank you for reading my story and for your support. I am excited to embark on this new chapter, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

With gratitude,
Corrie