An artist sits in a cold studio in January, wrapped in blankets, drinking wine, scribbling notes onto castaway papers and post-its. Ideas bubbling, thoughts swarming, the big question obsessively taking over: What shall the new series be? A few days go by, studio still frigid (even for a San Diego evening) the artist goes over their notes once more. Battles between conflicting opposites have made their way onto several papers: movement vs. stillness, darkness vs. light, strong vs. weak. There are questions about what feeds us? What helps us be present in the moment? What is it to be “mother”? The artist reaches for a notebook where over four pages the artist has gone into a philosophical rant about why we fear fragility, why we see fragility as negative, why we don’t celebrate fragility more. In the end the artist marks all things as fragile: alterable, changing, shifting. The artist acknowledges all the late night ponderings and decides to just go to the canvas and play.

And this is pretty much how most of my painting series emerge. I have lots of ideas and thoughts but in the end, I just have to get on that canvas and start making. Over the course of days, weeks, or months, the series begins to emerge. Then I push and explore what has emerged. Then I begin to control and focus it.

Air. Earth. Fire. Water.

The new series came to light about one month into the process. I wanted a quieter space while working on the new series so I chose either playlists featuring sounds of nature or complete silence. I gradually layered textures and gestural paint strokes focusing on the colors I was drawn in by. I dripped inks and watched them flow. When I looked at the paintings I saw dramatic abstract scenes unfolding through blues and browns. There were fiery oranges and wispy whites. The elements in color and composition had manifested onto canvas: Air. Earth. Fire. Water. The series was born.

Ever since March of 2020, I have been consumed by thoughts about breathing. I have questioned whether I should allow for deep breaths in the grocery line, feared not being able to catch my breath, pondered if it was safe to breathe, questioned whether to cough in public or hold it in, and I needed to find a means of expressing these emotional and physical responses in my paintings. Since my art explores how nature causes emotional responses, trees immediately came to mind as a way into navigating the things that were taking over my head and heart. In x-rays our lungs look like tree branches. Trees are the lungs of our world. And during this time, I have found solace with one tree in my backyard, a touchstone of rootedness in my daily hectic routine. So I began the long layering painting process and the series finally emerged around September. It was in these first days of September, I came to see the vision I had explored in my head. I continued crafting this vision through the rest of the year.

You see I am what one might call an emerging artist….but I use this term differently than it usually is applied within the art world. Normally the term emerging refers to how many years in art practice an artist has engaged with their art. I use emerging in the idea of process. For me, I have ideas in my head, often furiously jotting down thoughts, words, etc. on paper and then I take to the canvas and start to explore. I usually explore for awhile until something starts to emerge from the canvas that I am drawn to. This can be weeks or months. Once this happens, I immerse myself in getting more focused, careful, and precise in where the painting is headed. Often times my original thoughts and scribblings become just a fragment of thought associated to the canvas. Almost as if the canvas and I are in a group project throwing ideas out to each other until I am ready to say “Ok. Let’s go with this. This is something.”

With this series, twenty three paintings emerged in total. Some took on a darker, moodier tone of distorted tree landscapes. Others were infused with the physical manifestation of taking breaths influenced by details of tree bark. The paintings helped me to navigate breathing during a pandemic. A time where the the act of breathing, one that never really crossed my mind in daily life, became an all encompassing awareness of it.

I have been thinking quite a lot about the Solitary Serenity Series as we enter into ….what is it now…the 5th month of quarantine here in California. The series of expressive landscapes came to fruition as I pondered how often I felt a sense of peace in isolated public spaces. The false notion that I was alone in a scape that often included a body of water or all encompassing trees and brush brought me a sense of quiet introspection. The reality is that a public space is never truly private. This idea fascinated me. I could find solace and work privately and inwardly on what I needed to work through, but at any moment this quiet isolation could be eclipsed by others, for these spaces were in essence public. As I have been in a sense confined to limit my connections with others and the fact that this collection has found homes across the United States and Europe, I am intrigued at how these pieces take on new feelings and meanings amidst a pandemic. In some ways that need to connect with another human body that exists outside the confines of my home walls is real and present, and so is the danger. This is why the meanings and definitions of art are always in a state of flux, fluid and open and ever changing moment to moment, experience by experience. It is beautiful how that works.

Just a few of the Solitary Serenity Paintings are available to purchase.