As I start to approach the end of this chaos I’m living in right now, my mind is moving back to painting. Back to me painting, specifically.
There are so many possibilities especially as I revisit my journey researching contemporary art.
I have the urge to take scenes and moments from my travels and play with them. Pushing and pulling shapes so that the art isn’t as representational but still conveys the feelings.
Like in Spain when the sky was so blue, vivid and intense, and the buildings so white. Bursts of colour from the flowers around windows and doors. People going about their business but no one in a rush or harried.
In London UK, surrounded by so much history. The layers of centuries of people could be felt everywhere I went. The subways underground, travelling down three and four escalators to get to the right platform, was intense.
There was a huge sense of being part of something greater than myself that has stayed with me.
And Texas? Well that holds a special spot in my heart.
I look at contemporary art as a jumping off point. I love the artists who play with colour. I love the artists who explore their own mortality through their work. The artists who distort reality and through that distortion, tell stories or shift their viewers’ perspectives.
When people look at contemporary art with derision, they’re missing the point. It’s not, what is that?” Or, “my kid could do that!” Those responses miss the point.
Like the representational art from every other century, and omg is there a LOT of that, contemporary art has stories to tell, emotions to tweak and ideas to share.
It’s not just a chance to play, eschewing the so-called rules of art, it’s also a different way to connect with other people.
And I’m so damn full of stories. Now when can I unpack my canvases?