Paradigm Shift . 30x40 inches . 2011

 1. natural light
2. artificial / interior light
3. interior and uv light
4. uv light only
5. no light (glow in the dark)

Ingredients: Acrylic, crushed glass, phosphorescent pigments, varnish, water & light on canvas.

[It's hard to tell from the pictures, but the painting changes color from red/orange to blue, green, gold, and violet when the angle is right.] :)

I always find it amazing how quickly the sun sets after it initially touches the horizon. It seems to take forever to reach that point and then within minutes, disappears like it's falling off the edge of the earth. It's a special few minutes. You're almost afraid to look away, lest you blink and find the sun already gone. When it touches the horizon, the shape of the sun becomes liquid, melting the very sea or land it wants to hide behind. After just a few short moments, it's gone and everything becomes darker. Though always there, you suddenly notice the starlight.

That moment, from when the sun first meets the boundary between light and dark, and when it finally disappears, has always felt spiritual to me. Rarely do we get to experience the cyclical workings of the universe on such a profound, personal level.

Paradigm Shift is the latest painting in my Studio C Collection, to be shown on March 26th. If you'd like to purchase or reserve this painting before the show, contact me. :)

The Journey . 36x24 . 2011

1. natural light
2. interior light
3. interior & UV light combined
4. UV light alone
5. No light (glowing in the darkness)

Ingredients: Acrylic, phosphorescent pigments, varnish, water & light on canvas.

I started this in November. It took me that long to complete. My plan was to work on more complex designs first so that I had ample time to finish them before the show. Good call.

This piece has had a lot of different themes, even for me. It began as an observation of water droplets on glass, quickly becoming various concepts in my mind, each variation less connected to the original. 

(colors change depending on the viewing angle)

I've been told that it looks like cobblestone. My husband suggested it looked like an Earthship wall. To me, it even started to resemble biological cells. In essence, it's all of these things, or none of them, depending on what you see it as yourself. I don't want to decide for you. It's not up to me.

We each see what we want, and travel a different path on our individual walks toward discovery. It's a very personal thing. Ultimately it doesn't matter what any given painting means to you, since it's about the journey with which you arrive at your unique interpretation anyway. Your life, your experiences, form the eyes with which you see the world now. The process is the beautiful part. It's not the art itself, but The Journey you took to arrive here. We're each on the path, walking at our own pace, learning as we go, discovering ourselves. 

I feel like that's kind of the whole reason I make art to begin with. It's an exploration of myself.

The Journey is the latest piece in my Studio C Collection, to be shown on March 26th in Los Angeles.

Update: Painting sold! :) But, it will still be at my show, so make sure to see it!

The Makings of an Art Career

I started thinking of myself as a professional artist in 2006, but I've made art since I was a toddler. There's a picture we found of me as a child, maybe 2 or 3 years old, standing on a chair so I could reach the counter, paintbrush in hand, paints before me. I didn't think of myself as an artist growing up, because I was just making use of the art supplies my mom had around and bought for herself anyway. I would get my own occasionally, whenever I asked, but that was just for my own entertainment. It wasn't Art. Or was it?

Either way, I generally had a rehearsal to get to or an audition to prepare for, so I didn't have time to think of all the art I was making outside of performance as Art.

Ironically, I remember seeing artists and their little studios and lofts in movies and thinking it was just the coolest thing ever, and I knew at some point I wanted to live in an artist's loft, with paintings stacked against the wall and supplies strewn about everywhere. I didn't specifically want to be an artist, but I definitely wanted to live in an artist's studio. Ha.

[Anyone remember Jordan from the movie Cocktail? That.]

Looking back, I realize now that I even had my first real "art studio" in 2003. It was my closet, of course, but it was the only space I had for making "real" paintings, as I called them. Stuff I was serious about.

Between 2003 and 2006, aside from painting, I arranged a couple of large scale art installations, walk-through sculptures you might even call them, but we didn't photograph the events properly or even know to think of them as art installations, because that was before we realized I was already having an art career.

I was just making stuff. I had lots of ideas. I had help and people who believed in my ideas, and a bit of funding even, and together we made some awesome and artsy experiences. It was through some of these art installations that those around me began referring to me as an artist. I was still catching up to that knowledge, and what it meant.

My painting mentor at the time, Ray Friesz, upon viewing one of these large scale installations, commented that he wished he'd known ahead of time what it was, so that he could have invited a bunch of his important Art World friends, because this was "just the kind of stuff people in New York were doing nowadays." What? Really?

He knew I was an artist. I didn't. I was, however, getting suspicious about the way everyone kept referring to my work as "Art."

At some point soon after that, I realized that I was, in fact, an artist, and more than that I wanted to pursue a career in Art. Staggering. It was a revelation for me, if not anyone else.

That was many years ago now. I've been doing this almost full time for years. With intention. With purpose. I feel liberated in it now. People ask what I do, and I boldly, proudly explain that I'm an artist. Generally people don't know what that means, and assume I paint stuff every now and then with hopes of being an Artist one day. I know this because they follow up by asking me what I "do for a living." It's perplexing for them to comprehend that Art is my career.

For me, at this point, it's just natural. The career happened because I was pursuing Art to begin with. I was always working toward this. Now I know.