The palpable expression of the boundless visual world was to me, when a child, much as it is today: endless joy and awe and pain. My roots in Southern society was a place of confusion. Today my brush strokes and feelings run together: one knowing, one questioning—a finely wrought chain, never knowing the beginnings or ends. A necklace that circles my heart with the artistry of treasure and the sure knowledge of pain. A story of disparate emotions, learnings, uncertainties, heartbreak and of astonishing wonder.
The mud of Mississippi made for good mud pies, also for stories. The stories take many forms often unawares and unknowing. Art and story help carve pathways through the dark thick mud: art awakens our human spirit, a story enlivens the human soul. This is the world I paint in, the world you see pictured on my canvas. I do not paint for pretty, but for story.
In pursuit of acceptance of myself, in the bounds of the culture that I was a part of, I turned to sewing Embroidery became first decorations and patterns, followed by pictures. Pictures became elaborate tapestries embellished with semiprecious stones. The single thread next to another single thread over and over again, time and time again, taught me what little else could: a description of color is truly that small. That the big bold dash of paint you see in my picture, underneath it lies intricate slivers of many many colors.
My pictures are about paint and story. Every object, a vehicle for paint, selected and placed on the canvas for story. The rich mud: eyes of awe, heart of pain and joy; reach through with hands and fingers to tubes of paint. Paint is about color and light. I want you to see, to feel, to hear, and to inhale the paint. I want you to join me in the story. I feel my heart jump as I squeeze the paint from wrinkled tube to palette to brush…my unwavering awe and wonder of the visual and tactile world growing evermore expansive.