I drew a lot of things as a child, without a care in the world.
I never worried once that I wasn’t an “artist.”
As soon as I grew up, though, I felt I had to quantify my stick figures and lopsided hearts with an apology: “Oh, I’m not an artist.”
I wish I could take every single one of those apologies back.
Being an artist is to be an observer, someone trying to make sense of the world, someone trying to understand how things are the way they are. Based on my conversation with nearly everyone in my life during the past 18 months, we’re all coming out of this pandemic as artists.
Trying to make sense of things is as human as it gets. I started watercolor painting in 2018 because of a terminal illness of a family member. To process what was happening, I sloshed my watercolor brushes through paint pots, swiped them into water bowls, dipped the tips on a paper towel, and made art. I processed, observed, breathed.
And now, to draw or paint or create a pattern based on what I feel seems as natural as breathing.
So . . .
Here I am. I am an artist.
I tend toward opaque over transparent, solid color over variable color, and patterns over a solid block of color.
I luxuriate in colors. Patterns. Colors. Patterns. All the time. Everywhere. Give me a monochromatic color study and I’m happy. You’ll find me pulling together analogous colors all the time in my color swatches.
My heart races when I see a surface pattern design filled chock full with color.
I hope you enjoy.