An artist statement is supposed to sum up in a page or less what your work means, why you make art and what you want viewers to take away from experiencing it. My goal is that everyone can read my statement and understand my art. I don't want it be overly academic and jargon filled. So for your reading pleasure, here's the latest rendition of what I want to say about my art (and yes, it is less than a page, it just looks like a lot):
Evoking idealized childhood memories, I focus on the happiest moments, remixing those bright emotions into a shining daydream. I don’t recreate a specific instance, more reference a romanticized feeling about the memory. I’m not interested in reality—real life is full of complications, sadness and disappointment. I choose to be easily pleased and enraptured, retaining a childlike enjoyment of the little things: a shiny jewel, a pretty bird, fluttering butterflies, a colorful button, bright colors, flowers, glitter, costume jewelry in all its sparkling glory.
I pluck out the glorious moments of my childhood: the summer days of being a little girl when the world is exciting and full of adventure; the quiet contentment of eating a melting fudgesicle while sitting in lush green grass; the exhilaration of discovering the joys of reading as a young child; the sense of safety when my Dad would sing me to sleep at bedtime; the excitement of learning to ride a bicycle; feeling beautiful playing “dress-up” as scarves and old dresses get turned into a queen’s royal robes; the deep pleasure of learning to make beautiful things with my own hands; the surreptitious thrill of touching a sculpture in an art museum.
I still like to explore the world through touch—if I can’t hold something, discover its tactile qualities with my hands not just my eyes, it doesn’t feel real to me. I want people to have that same pull when they look at my work. I’m portraying ephemeral and intangible concepts, yet the pieces themselves are weighty and substantial, catching the eye and inviting the viewer closer. I want sensible people to feel the urge to run their fingers across the surface, just to know if it actually feels like it looks. It’s that instinct to engage the world with all our senses that I want to evoke. You know you shouldn’t…but you just want to trace the curve of that jewel, the undulating hills of paint and varnish, the path of a twisting necklace.
In the studio, a sense of youthful playfulness and exploration pervades my art making process, though the more pragmatic side of me knows full well that those rosy memories are past and in fact, never actually were as I portray them. As much as I want to hold onto that idealized time of my life, reality intrudes.
In my recent work, I’ve been mulling over the turmoil that is adult life, the need to let go, and exodus: birds in migration, paint trails meandering aimlessly through the picture plane, jewelry in seeming disintegration, thread unraveling, materials actually hanging off the work as if caught in mid-dissolution. My paintings blur to various degrees over time, contributing to the sense of a dream dissolving as you wake up. The cheap jewelry I use tarnishes and discolors easily, bringing a touch of imperfection and decay to my idyllic daydream. The more layers I add the more blurred out the initial images become, sometimes ending up only as blobs of vague color. This is so much like our own minds in regards to memory: The further back you try to recall, looking through all the layers of time that have passed since, the less details you can remember--only a hazy general outline remains that you can project upon. The present can easily bestow a glossy veneer over the past. It’s mental flotsam building up to cover over the dark parts and leave the shining moments to glimmer through.
Can you understand what I'm trying to say? Does it make sense to you? Does it mesh with what you think or feel when you look at my paintings?
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