Hello friends! I wanted to introduce myself to those of you who may have discovered me recently through Hatch Art House in Madison! As you may know, I am the featured artist this month @hatcharthouse and the Reception is Friday, June 9th from 6pm-9pm. I will not be showing any of my original paintings, but will be presenting all of my high quality Giclee Fine Art Prints, which are available in a few different sizes. You can see my large scale original paintings up around town @johnsonpublichouse and @onebarrelbrewco on Atwood and @contextclothing on King Street.

In addition to painting very large portraits of wild animals, pets and my favorite Musicians, I also love to design t-shirts and bandanas. My bandanas can be purchased @contextclothing as well as through my Etsy shop. I designed the t-shirts for The Firefly Coffeehouse in Oregon, where I have been a barista (give or take a few hiatuses) for almost 9 years! I am originally from a small town in the middle of Illinois, NOT Chicago or anywhere even remotely close. Before I landed myself in the Madison area and became a mama, I lived and traveled the USA (and abroad) for many years. In 1999 I earned a BFA in Drawing from MIAD in Milwaukee and then didn't stay put for more than 6 months at a time for over 6 years. I have lived and worked on an eclectic organic apple orchard in Vermont, been an "extra" in a country music video and a few Pepsi commercials and worked for a sweater manufacturing company for 3 years in Los Angeles. In 2008 I earned an MFA in Textile Design from Rhode Island School of Design and you can have my wallpaper design titled Mustachio custom printed by the folks @flavorpaper in Brooklyn. 

I am as nostalgic and sentimental as they come and surround myself with family heirlooms. I love a good memoir and when I can't decide what music to listen to when I'm painting, I usually re-listen to a music documentary. I LOVED the Shittown podcast. My tattoos (thank you Zach Roman of Black Moon Tattoo) are mostly of my family and I'm lucky to have the amazing Lumbering Behemoth as my man and partner in crime. 

It's just before 6am on a Monday morning. I'm having my coffee and my son is still with his dad for the long weekend. I will be heading to the cafe soon.

Yesterday I completed the first self portrait that I have attempted since my undergrad days as a drawing major at MIAD. That was in the 90's. I convinced myself during those days, that I was a failure at drawing the human figure. Yes, even after weekly 6 hour figure drawing classes with some of the greatest teachers out there. I'm still not convinced I can pull it off. But I'm at the point in my life now that I'm finally starting to realize how powerful that negative voice in my head is, and I'm trying really hard to shut it off.

The self portrait has always been a tricky thing for me. I was amazed at all the baggage it carried when I began this experiment. As *most* girls do, I had horrible self-esteem as a teenager, and as much as I tried to hide that in college, it followed me there. And wow, did it ever show up in the self-portraits. I could never look myself in the mirror and not portray myself as some boyish, ugly, angry, way older than my time....girl. Even though I was small, I still struggled with body issues and I (gasp) never saw myself as a beautiful woman. 

I took this baggage into my first relationship at age 19 and we stayed together for 15 years. We were babies and looking back, we didn't have the tools to understand the loads we each carried.  My ex-husband, who was also a drawing major, is an amazing portrait artist. So, for 15 years, that was not my space. Humans (in the made-up rule book of my brain) were off limits to me.  Until grad school. But that's another story...

My beautiful, artistic, and smart Aunt Cindy, with whom I have looked up to my entire life, sent me a text message last night as I was going to bed. She expressed that I did not capture my "warm" expression and my "radiant" smile. She says "You look angry in the painting. Perhaps you are angry. Maybe you are struggling with the painting and not happy with it." It's this message that has me typing away this morning, trying to understand this a little better. 

I feel very vulnerable to criticism with this painting. I mean, just making it and sharing it made me feel naked to the world. I know it's not my best work, but it's an attempt to try something different. I have been expressing emotion through wild animals for the past few years. My approach to this painting was to begin as if I was doing a wild animal portrait. I prefer a serious face. No tongue hanging out. Straight ahead. So I did the same. But her message has me questioning my anger and my intentions. I suppose, yes, I could say I am angry. I am not an "angry person" in general. I giggle a lot when I'm nervous and I am little in size. I'm often called cute.

I'm digging here for this little gem of insight about self image, culture and self-esteem, but I keep watching the clock because I have to go to work. Yes, I am angry, because our world is an angry place. I miss my family and I wish a lot of things were different. We are all feeling trapped inside a culture that we have collectively formed, but feel as though we are all victims of it. We are struggling so hard to be free, happy, healthy humans. I can't look myself in the mirror or the camera and giggle. I guess when it's just me and I'm looking into my own eyes, for hours, I begin to frown. The voice that says I can't make this painting is always there, so perhaps it's that voice I am frowning at. 

I am happy to announce that the local online magazine Tone Madison that covers art & culture in the Madison and surrounding area, has published a piece about me, written by Sarah Witman. Please take a moment and have a read! 

After graduating High School and spending 6 weeks in NYC at the pre-college program at Parsons, I knew I wanted to go to school in the city. My plan was to spend my freshman year at Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design and then transfer (as a Fashion Design Major) to Parsons, my sophomore year. And that's what I did. After a month in the program, I realized the Fashion Design life was not for me. I couldn't connect with any of the teachers. I couldn't find a common thread. I missed the big open spaces of MIAD and I missed my laid back mid-west friends. So one day (with deep concern of disappointing my friends and family...it took A LOT of work to get there!), I changed my major to Illustration, so I could transfer back to MIAD as a Drawing major.

This allowed me to take a Poetry class at The New School of Social Research. My teacher was William Packard. He would show up to class with his leather bound books of poetry, held tight with rubber bands. He wore a leather jacket and walked with a cane. His long finger nails would make a clicking sound as he unwrapped the rubber bands from his books. He would take out his comb and comb back his long, grey, greasy hair. Push his thick black glasses up his nose and begin reading. 

Our big assignment of the semester was to write a biography of a poet. Naturally, I chose Kenneth Patchen, the poet my Uncle Fred turned me onto at a very young age. Uncle Fred gave me the phone number to call Miriam Patchen to interview her for the paper. She was in her 80's. When my professor learned I had chose to write about Patchen, he was beside himself. When he found out I would be talking with Miriam over the phone, he said to me "Tell her I'm doing well...". 

You see, William Packard was a student at Stanford, in Palo Alto, in the 1950's. That's when Kenneth and Miriam moved into their home and Packard helped them move.

I did my biography, hand written (of course) and mailed the original copy to Miriam in Palo Alto. A few years later, I would take the train from Chicago to Los Angeles and my dad and Uncle Fred and I drove up the coast to spend 2 nights with Miriam in her home. I slept next to Miriam in her rock hard bed. Actually, I'm not sure I slept. I might have been a little star struck. I AM IN HER BED. 

We spent 3 days together, the 4 of us, listening to Kenneth Patchen (on vinyl), chatting about life. My hand-written biography of Kenneth sitting on the coffee table. She asked me to move in with her, but at the time I was eager to move in with my boyfriend. Ha!!!!! Oh, how love can cloud our vision.

6 months later, Miriam passed away in her reading chair.

Back to NYC a few years prior, William Packard gave me a copy of his New York Quarterly, which he was the Editor of for over 30 years. The front cover, Kenneth Patchen. Packard and I wrote a few letters back and forth in the late 90's and I learned of his passing in 2002.

I'm not sure if I'm clearly expressing this, but there was a lot of magic happening there for this 19 year old girl from a small town in Illinois. I cherish these memories so much. The experience of Packard's classroom, the connection Uncle Fred gave me to The Patchen's. "Tell her I'm doing well..." 

*picture top left going clockwise / that's me in my NYC dorm circa 1996!/ The New York Quarterly featuring Kenneth Patchen from 1972 / My Freshman year english notebook / Packard's signature on the gifted NYQ

I was featured in the Madison magazine called BRAVA in March. Is this not the most awkward photo of me?!

This is the third buffalo painting in the body of work that I have created in the past 2 years. The process of painting these animals is, of course, deeply personal. I have gone through a lot of transitions in these 2-3 years and through this work I am able to tap into that personal journey on a spiritual level. I have been given the opportunity to keep working, which is a huge gift. If you aren't familiar with Pixie Lighthorse, please look her up. Her online course from 2015, centering around Buffalo, is all about *Manifestation of Visions* and the words *clarity, abundance, and prosperity* are used to describe her class. This resonates with me and helps to clarify my attraction to this mysterious and powerful animal. I have been learning to paint with honesty and to cultivate my own strong voice, as a painter, a mother, a woman. I know this is an endless journey and I am forever grateful for the opportunity to keep creating new work. (38"x50" acrylic on paper.)