Artist Statement Drafts
I’ve been trying to word my artist statement for my collection of works titled “The World is on Fire, But I’m Still Here.
Here are all of the ideas I wrote down, trying to pinpoint the exact energy and wording of the artist statement. My complete statement is the first one, the rest are the drafts.
I have a broader title for this chapter of work I make. “The world is on fire but I’m still here”. It’s the overarching theme of all of my collections. This combination of a title and a guiding theme help me select work that emphasizes claims of space and time. We do not have a guaranteed future, I believe this is the first generation who really feels that suffocating knowledge. My way to combat this consuming fear is to recognize, make my own, and share the beautiful moments I do have. Each collection I release is founded in enjoyment of the present because only the present is certain. I find great peace in viewing life this way, appreciating what is here now. The chaos of the unknown and the un-fixable has never inspired me to work for a better future, it has only consumed me with dread and depression. But the warmth of accepting and loving what I can see and feel has inspired me endlessly to foster kindness and share hope.
The world is on fire but I still live here has so much to say and I just don’t know how to say it all. That’s why I paint.
The world is on fire, have you noticed? I mean everything and getting worse. And it’s all one can do to function under that pressure
All that I love is up in flames because the world is on fire. It’s everything and it’s still getting worse and it’s all I can do to keep acting like this is normal as we slip into a state of chaos that will leave everything changed. In short- it’s too much. It’s too much to hold onto the panic and the responsibility from waking up too tired in the morning to not sleeping at night because of blue light and stress. I can’t go on this way. No one can. We are all going to fry the empathy and care right out of ourselves. Somehow we have to not just care about it all, we have to care about ourselves too. The world is on fire but I’m still here is my series of works about finding moments of peace shining through the heavy chaos. All of it matters, but I can’t help any of it all of the time. I’ve learned for myself that beauty keeps me engaged in life. I’m still open to the world because I pay attention to the simple marvels of it. What never fails to capture my awe is the presence of vibrant color. I love the way a yellow lightbulb reflects off a shiny surface and makes the blues around it more green. I’m entranced with the natural compositions of objects and life around me that show evidence of a daily life wading through it. I don’t want to put myself directly in the shot every time, but I’m always there through the warp of a camera lens or the reflection of a glass ceiling. I love blur and distortion from the camera because it shows that these moments are only still here because I took a picture. My camera is my greatest appreciator of the beautiful things around me. I love to whip it out of my pocket fifteen times an hour if needed, and collect the wonderful things around me. It’s all a matter of looking- the more used to looking for awe you are the more of it you’ll find. My camera album is a collection of moments in my life that give me the strength to keep going, and a reminder that little things really matter.
You want my advice? Find some colored lights. Get some reflective things, change the lighting up and look around. Notice the colors. Notice the beauty. Feel wonder and joy and appreciation for the vivid, fascinating world around you filled with colors and light and change and hope.
I also love the camera being just as present as anything it shows. The wide warp, the distortion of a long shutter, blur, that kind of thing. I like showing that this moment exists still because a camera took a picture of it. I didn’t paint from site. I couldn’t
It’s about place. It’s about being here, now. It matters that I’m here even if it’s all oblivion
I believe in entropy. Now is the only moment that ever matters. But far from seizing the day, I take that to mean enjoy the day? More like don’t stress through the day. Not hedonistic, just not mentally ill.
It’s carving “I was here” into the tree. It’s self portraiture
It’s about meeting the challenges of today with the you you are today. Not waiting for a more perfect moment or an easier time or for the stars to align. That future you will have future things, you’re living in the current moment and that’s all we will ever have. It’s like you’re walking on a wheel the top of your head touches this vast space floating above you- that’s time. And the wheel behind you is the past and in front of you is the future. The only place on this wheel in which you can experience time is in the present. The past doesn’t exist. The future doesn’t exist. They’re concepts. Now is not a concept.
They’re little moments of time when I can look around me and say, huh, well that’s actually really pretty cool. Where I can see beauty in this space in time, just how things are right there right then
My head is usually a cluttered place of much doom and gloom. This painting series is a collection of moments in my life that I stopped, took a breath, and saw the beauty.
The world is on fire but I still live here is about existing even when it’s impossible. It feels like society is burning along with the environment and I’m going to work each day because I still have to pay my bills, and I wonder how long that will extend. I think of a story I heard about the wildfire in Australia in 2020. All the fire alarms in many communitys were going off constantly because of the amount of smoke in the air. And as their security systems told them to leave for their safety, public officials told them to stay. And they stayed. Because what else would they do. I think about this everytime I hear of an area long ravaged by danger such as armed fighting or regular natural disaster. I wonder, why do they not just leave? I understand now it’s not that simple. That sometimes your whole life is there and most people cannot afford to uproot spontaneously. This series is about that too. About what it looks like around you as you stay in the building and turn the alarms off.
The painting im working on today is titled “plugging in an extension cord”. I am the subject in the painting. I decided to take the reference image for this when i was plugging in an extension cord by lamplight and i thought about just what this would look like if my husband walked in. Then i set up my phone camera, pressed record, and got back into position. When i looked back at the scene i connected to it. Here i was doing such a mundane, kind of unpleasant task. And look just how wonderful it is. The scattered cords and the macrame and the goofy legs sticking out from under the bed. In this I see beauty, in this moment i felt connected to myself in a way that ive learned is hard to come by. I do meditate, i exercise, and i occasionally do yoga. But the kind of connectedness that comes form loving everything around you and the way it comes together and just embracing it with open eyes and an accepting mind, it makes me feel like a kid again. Seeing all the fathomless wonders of a boring old room.
It’s all impossible and dreadful and I’m still here.
