Art Letters

Walking me through her studio years ago, I was in awe and in equal confusion hearing her credit the act of painting to move through her father’s death. How could she paint about it I wondered? Her imagery wasn’t dark or foreboding, nor unapproachable or unrelatable. At the time I couldn’t understand, instead could just notice from the outside.

I now let out a multi-feeling chuckle as I count the number of new works hanging around my home, little comfort symbols surrounding, each I realize related in some form to processing my father’s death.

I sometimes worry sharing these new works will be received as repetitive or a topic others wish I’d move on from. Despite their somber source, I’m grateful for the opportunity these moments spent in creative work have enabled. It’s hard not to think about my dad and our relationship while making them, and I think that’s become why they’re magnetizing to return to. To not avoid these thoughts, or skirt around the grief. To move through rather than around. To make mementos of beauty where pain once lived.

While visiting a craft fair last year, I noticed an array of Pantone postcards available to play and create with.

(Pantone is a globally-recognized color matching system to specify colors. Pan (meaning All), and tone (meaning Color). Undeniably refreshing and uniting - a word that translates to “all colors”.)

I started sifting through the Pantone postcards, my eye landing on the purples and soft blues - until this one.

Despite the arresting color, its name caught me most. The same my father called me - Sunshine.

I noticed this was the only card that included a name. I did some research and found only a portion of Pantone colors have a descriptive name alongside their numbers. It suddenly felt even more fortuitous.

I wanted to do something with this card. Perhaps frame it, or recreate it in paint. While I loved the simplicity of the design, painting it on a regular white canvas felt too simple. I decided to set it aside, and wait.

Months later, helping my mom spring clean, she pulled a textile from her dresser. Asking her about it, she recalled watching her grandmother spin and weave this linen by hand. Immediately the connection clicked, and I asked if she’d be willing to part with it. With its thick, perfectly imperfect texture, this 100+ year-old textile became the storied foundation for my work.

Reminiscent of watching my own grandmother hand-embroider tablecloths and pillow cases, I conjured up the lessons she gave me as a child while visiting from Croatia. My stitches imperfect, I felt grounded in working with the same cloth my great-grandmother’s hands shaped.

Unprimed, I watched the linen soak up the sun. I decided to forego a second layer of paint, enjoying, embracing for once, the peaks of texture and valleys of saturation.

Old and new, history and presence, death and life. Wading through to welcome the light.

Here comes the sun.

SUNSHINE
22 x 32 Acrylic and Hand Embroidery on Vintage Handspun Linen
The Miller Gallery
Iridescence Show Opening April 11

Thank you for personally connecting with me through this work. You’ve got sunshine, even on a cloudy day.