I was one of those children who insisted that you could tell every car’s and truck’s personality by his “eyes and mouth,” as revealed through the headlights and grillwork. I refused to ride in mean cars. Grumpy cars were okay, but not mean ones.
When I was 20, I read how Michaelangelo approached a block of marble with the conviction that the figure inside would reveal itself to him as he worked. I’ve always marveled at how nature does this; from the clouds revealing their characters as they chase one another across the sky to the caricatures revealed in massive rock formations, as if performing for an audience watching from their canyon seats. It’s a synergy of the creativity of the artist mystically mingling with the communication of nature itself.
As I observe my artist mother sculpt and paint, I see feelings and moods revealed through the abstract, architectural structure of her works. Nothing, either man-made or natural-made, is simply literal; they take on the feelings and sentiments of a people or a culture, a political, economic or spiritual era. Nothing stands isolate and silent, because the viewer is also a part of the art, bringing his own lens of experience. The artist, the media and principles used, as well as the viewer, all communicate to create what we call art—storytelling multi-dimensionally.
While my art appears mostly representational, with a little impressionism, post-impressionism, and fauvism thrown in. Traditional subjects take on their own personality and express their feelings in a language of color and line and size in sometimes non-traditional ways. I see lotus flowers as large as umbrellas, and hear pillows talking and leaves chattering with the tea cups in the dappled sunlight, and I feel the passionate burn of the sunset romancing every tree, wave and mountainside. I find myself held spellbound by Eucalyptus trees, rustling with their thoughts, swaying gracefully even with the uncertainty of change, and communicating their own spirits, and likely mine as well.