Intuitive art is seamlessly created. It begins with a moment of inception, when something is seen, as if for the very first time and my mind takes a snapshot. It could be as simple as a flight of stairs that lead into an old brick building, or looking at an ice cream truck. Ordinary, every day items that I call a kismet moment. Right then and there, it strikes a nerve and I know, one day I’ll paint it.
But the item isn’t always prominently displayed in my work. Sometimes it’s obscure, because I’ve painted it, then embraced it, like giving it a hug, I’ve surrounded it with other items or people, until it seems less of a focal point. Yet it is, when you look at the painting, some part of you can see it emotionally, that’s how the work will make you feel it, that’s prominent.
So my story is in bits and pieces, seemingly disconnected, as if I’m living multiple lifetimes all at once. But for the past four years, I’ve been painting continuously after nearly dying, when my body began shutting down for no apparent reason. And when it stopped attacking itself, I was left deaf in one ear, had permanent lung damage and was released from the hospital with my companion, a walker meant for an old lady. I was 56 years old.
Some days I’d wake up in so much pain that adding a “t” to the word “pain” seemed to just make sense, as it added color to what I was feeling. In that way, I could stop complaining. I could perhaps show and share my experience beyond the existence of debilitating discomfort.
Of course, that wasn’t completely possible, because there’s no magical art that allows you to brush away reality, but it can be suspended. And in that way, I was able to convincingly paint myself out of a rut, my brush strokes led me to an escape route, where my art carried me safely away from stress and death.
But even now as I’m writing this, I know that I will never be well again. That the rare disease that I have, Granulomatosis with Polyiingitis, isn’t only rare because people don’t get it, but because people rarely survive the disease. There’s no cure. Medicines can suppress it, and they create a false sense of security, but the illness remains within me.
Intuitive art captures the feeling of forlorn & brings awareness of what’s wrong, by giving it color, so people might actually look at it and SEE.
These ideas are intuitively represented in my artwork, “Daddies Dream Too” and “She Named Her Daughter Hope” which is now on display at the Piano Craft Gallery in Boston (exhibition in person with COVID-19 protocols in place, and in-line #SocialDistancingGallery, September 4 -27th) My hope is to open our eyes to all manner of discomfort through art.
I don’t have formal training. No one taught me how to hold a paintbrush or how to master a brush stroke. For me it’s just been picking the up the paint and putting it down.
Some paintings have more meaning to me than others, like my three part domestic violence series, which draws the viewer in, seeing at first beautiful colors, and then the brain comprehends that they’re admiring a giant fist punching a woman in a beat down. My intuitive Art aims to make people more aware.
If by chance you see me, through my artwork and it looks easy. Good. Maybe that’s why I survived, maybe that’s what I’m here. Maybe…
Without any classical training, no art instruction, no lessons in the fine art of painting… I’m suppose to make it look easy, so others might try. If so, mission accomplished.
What are you here for? What do you think?