When you look at the history of art, you see that artists devoted centuries of time and effort to glorifying suffering. They immortalized religious subjects, elevating the saints and martyrs by emphasizing the torture and pain those men and women had endured. I have never been so strong that I could laugh in the face of my problems. Suffering matters, but it is not the final answer in life, and that is what I’ve endeavored to emphasize in my work. My work is a celebration of life, and a reminder that new beginnings are a part of nature. I don’t need to be reminded of suffering, but I do want to remember that life can be beautiful.
Perhaps it’s cliché to compare the seasons of nature to the seasons of life, but when I think of life’s seasons, I don’t necessarily associate them with ageing. The seasons I think of are the ones that come and go with adversity and success. The most bittersweet thing about life is that nothing lasts forever. For most people this is a reminder of death, but for me it’s the assurance that good times and bad times come and go. It’s frightening to know all your efforts can be washed away with one summer’s storm, but once you’ve survived it, you learn to accept life’s unique challenges and know that spring will come again.
Thinking of the changing seasons reminds me of the story of the phoenix, the mythical bird that, when consumed by fire, rises out of the ashes to live again. Flowers, dying in the fall and returning in the spring are a living metaphor for this myth, and symbolize the possibility of rebirth and second chances that it implies. It pleases me to think that I am able to give the flowers in my work a new and more permanent life than what they are allowed in nature. Seasons change, flowers come and go, and so does happiness. My goal is to capture happiness and beauty before they fade, knowing that their transience makes them all the more special.
At the risk of stating the obvious I want to add that the idea of rebirth has a very personal meaning not just for my work but for me. When I made my final effort to find a direction for my life in 2011, I had failed in every way possible. The last thing I wanted to do was start over, but much as I tried, I could not ignore my desire to draw.
Interesting parallels can be drawn between my outlook on life and my work. My dark side matters immensely to me. It surrounds me and defines who I am. But I don’t allow myself to get lost in it. In my work and in my life I endeavor to create clear boundaries between dark and light, between what I choose to remember and what I choose not to think about, between being insane and sane. It’s the only way I manage to keep my equilibrium, and it’s not an easy thing to accomplish. I am aware that in art as well as life, light doesn’t exist without shadows, and that dark and light together create depth.
People need to be reminded of life’s possibilities, and I think that’s a big part of my work’s appeal. Imagining a better world is the way we begin to improve the one we have. There’s a lot to be said for the word “hope.” In Greek mythology, hope was the one evil that didn’t escape Pandora’s Box. Hope can either be viewed as a positive emotion that motivates us to keep going, or an illusion that ends in futility and despair. I know what it’s like to lose hope, and I think any alternative is better. I want to think that life is worth living and that my outlook can make a difference in my experience, and quite possibly my outcome.
You may find it unusual that I’ve chosen to draw flowers, so beautiful for their intense colors, in black and white. I love color, and I pay close attention to it when I choose my subjects, but in my drawings, I find it distracting. I strive to create a full range of values in my work without using color. (A red rose, when drawn or photographed in black and white, will have leaves and petals that are very similar shades of gray, as anyone who is color blind knows.) So I am very aware of color when I draw, but my focus is on what shades of gray each color makes, and whether I can create a wide variety of values in each drawing. Translating flowers from color to black and white is always a revelation. When I begin drawing, I only have a vague idea of what my finished piece will look like, and the drawing process is like unwrapping a beautiful gift. In ancient Greece the statues we admire so much today were painted in garish colors. Over time, the colors faded, and what’s left is a much more refined object. I like to think that my black and white flowers have a calm and a serenity they wouldn’t have had I drawn them in all their lavish colors.
I am fascinated with light. My preoccupation began in 2006 when I was homeless. Back then the sun ruled my world. A sunny day was a good day, a warm night a good night. A rainy day was miserable, a rainy night, sleepless. The highlight of my day was watching the sun come up over the Lake Michigan marina. Seeing it glinting over the water and illuminating the sailboats made me feel reassured because I knew that even though my life was a shambles, nature was still beautiful. Since then, I’ve always paid attention to sunlight.
It took me a while to learn how to light my pictures, and when I finally did, I was struck by the way light could transform an ordinary flower into one of spectacular beauty. As an artist, you can say so much about your view of life simply by the light you depict in your work. The lighting I use in my work is one more way of emphasizing the idea of transformation and new beginnings.
One doesn’t have to be a scholar to observe that beauty has somehow fallen out of favor in the art world over the last century. This saddens me, and I am puzzled by what seems to be the prejudice of the establishment. Some critics may think that with the course art history has taken there is nothing left to be said about this subject, but I would have to disagree. I think there is a great deal left to be said about beauty. Beauty constantly renews itself in nature, and the idea of it can certainly be renewed artistically, too. The world is an ugly place, and for me beauty is the only antidote. If I didn’t have my work to turn to my life would indeed be desolate. I know a great deal about the dark side of life, about ugliness and suffering, and I can say that in my darkest moments, I sought beauty as a way of lessening the pain. Life is full of ugliness; we all know this. But I choose to see its beauty.