I have been in love with art since I was 9 years old, and I have been obsessed with photography since I was 12 years old. Well, I was introduced to the camera when I was 12, but didn't actually become obsessed until I was 14 or 15. When my mother first brought home the digital camera I wanted nothing to do with it, my impression of the medium was that it would be the art work lazy and incompetent because of its instant gratification; snap the shot, you have a perfect frozen image with every detail you want, whereas a painting took months or years to prepare and render the same image yet never to the same realistic degree as a camera. I love painting, I love sculpture, the intaglio is my favorite printing process; but nothing has taken me the way photography does. I was blissfully happy taking photographs of local graveyards, the stillness and company eased my angsty-emo teenager self and I would only introduce figures when it was my super gothy friends wanting to crawl over the markers. I can say with complete honestly that the majority of my photographs lack content, lack depth. They were made to be pretty and rarely did they try to convey a meaning. I reserved my “voice” for my paintings in high school, political message mostly, works inspired by lyrics and personal experience – I was an Air Force brat so my family had to feel strongly one way or the other about politics and the government though we weren't fact fountains during the campaigns. My father was away on deployment often, my mother wanted a career, a sister who rebelled at every turn and a younger brother who gets on your nerves the way a younger brother should – it was all fuel for my art during middle and high school; art was the escape, it was the only way to speak if I didn't have the breath to scream.
Now that I'm out of high school, away from my parents homes, my siblings and I are closer and stronger than ever able to stand on our feet I've noticed a change in my art. I have nothing to scream about really. Instead I'm learning what I should have learned at the beginning, the formal techniques, the rules of composition and color, the fact that each image and the displaying of that image should read a distinct message – personal and clear. It makes me fear for myself, what if I don't have “it” anymore? Is there no emotion, no cause nor reason present or strong enough to move me anymore? My paints sit drying in their storage, my camera is only pulled when I have a class assignment, I have nothing to say anymore that I can't just outright say. I'm a stronger person than I was in middle and high school, my art led me to my voice which is an accomplishment well revered and I'm grateful yet I miss the relationship I had with art and the materials. I want it back.
In trying to get in touch again with the creative sense I've lost I've been reviewing my work and everything that has led to this moment, so many regrets. I've never second guessed my passion for art or the art itself, it is true to its purpose whether polished or raw, pristine or technically dumb. With all of the learnings and skills I've acquired today I wish to readdress my works and 'speak' once again to my former self, that angsty-emo teenager who was so scared(angry) of(at) the world yet so sure of her art. In the latest photography series I hope to bring my fears to light, to publicly display my shortcomings for the WORLD to judge and critique. It could fail miserably, adding another notch to my failure totem, or it could be that push I need to dive head first into the art that so engrossed me as a young child. I am terrified, but at least now I can say to you(readers) that I am.
2004
acrylic paint