Is this you? Is this you? It started out as the flu that ended up in delirious revelatory hallucinations about myself, sort of Brian Wilson's sand box meets Hunter S. Thompson. As an artist I realized I wasn't sure if I was painting images based on my own ideas or images I had outgrown. I hadn't painted much in several months and wasn't sure I ever wanted to paint again. The pain of too much reality about the roll artists play in this society wasn't working for me. I wanted to be a muse, an inspiration and no one was even showing up at my shows never mind supporting the work. Regaining strength to do art was terribly difficult and I lacked the passion for it. What could I do that would get me back in the studio sooner. I needed passion for my work again. I started creating. Small, crafty, things at first. A beaded bird, a pair of knitted gloves, then some painted handbags. I need more. The notion of painting as a journal seems meaningful. It should be a personal way of marking ones steps. If it's seen by others, will I at least feel the satisfaction of camaraderie? Maybe the joy of painting is enough and maybe it will lighten the load of others too even when what I say with the work is "I hurt too". Do artists give up because they are alone or because they are not valued. All questions I don't have the answer to, so instead I find joy, I accept pain, I open my heart, I create honestly and I share it with you.
Nancy Leshinsky
Seeing paintings by Morris Graves and then doing
