Visionary Art: Vulnerability In, Interpretation Of & Unanswered Questions
I have completely fallen in love with the vulnerability in live painting. Allowing others to view, critique, interpret and ask questions freely. I can get so lost in a piece, as if we’re speaking with one another. A frequency only we hear, that others begin to tune into. Creating a physical interpretation of our inner conversations. The work always transforming on its own- a living, breathing extension of self. Going to a festival for a few days, connecting with passing strangers. Having the vast space to complete larger pieces, spontaneously collaborating with others artists seamlessly - seemed like a dream that suddenly became my reality.
It was interesting navigating not only as a female artist, but also being new to the live painting festival community- now publicly sharing my art only two weeks prior to creating my first series, a 3 piece canvas series entitled “The 234 Transit”. I was suddenly submerged and fully diving into the interactive aspect of it all. The endless array of feedback, interpretations, critiques and questions gathered from viewers. The deep conversations had, vulnerable moments shared and every space between.
Not only a creator myself but also an observer as well, I reflect back on my earliest memory of being deeply moved by art. My fathers artwork hung on the walls of our small cluttered apartment. I would day dream into them, imagining doors and portals that I could travel through, new worlds that I could explore. I always thought it interesting how certain pieces impact us more than others, sometimes for an unknown reason.
In 2019, the same year I had been traveling around California live painting, I visited The Broad Museum. I walked up to this very large work hanging on a wall by itself and I started to cry. I wasn't even really sure why and when I saw the artist name I sort of chuckled to myself as I’m not necessarily the biggest fan. But what a beautiful moment. I do remember being melancholic that day and a few other works as well had moved me, but still the Rorschach left a lasting impression.
Andy Warhol
1984
acrylic on canvas
162 x 115 in. (411.48 x 292.1 cm)
In 2019 as well, Hamilton Morris visited Moma to view Pavel Tchelitchew’s Hide & Seek.
He asks up the question: “Did Tchelitchew (the artist) take mescaline in the 30s or 40s? … Does it even matter?” I love his follow up, stating the question being obnoxious and feeling a bit resentful for even asking because “who cares?”
Pavel Tchelitchew
oil on canvas
June 1940 - June 1942
But these are questions we all ask:
“Where did this come from?”
“How was this created?”
“They must have taken something to create this, right?”
Hamilton Morris states “If this painting had been made in 1968, it would've been dismissed immediately as psychedelic art” ... but this actually was painted decades before anyone, aside from a very small number of people using psychedelic drugs”.
It’s quite interesting to see how art is critiqued, based on the time of creation, the artist behind the piece and the personal viewer. One can only continue to wonder, accepting a role as the observer. Allowing space for the various emotions, feelings and thoughts to arise. Ultimately asking questions that may never be answered.
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