Hayley Gallery brings a new and exciting exhibit to the gallery on a monthly basis featuring a wide range of artists and mediums.
I was an artistic kid. Then life took over, and I put down my brush for motherhood and a corporate career. Now that I’m retired, I’ve returned to my early passion. I work primarily in acrylics and love color, texture, and faces. I gravitate toward bold, vibrant, and unexpected colors. Green skin? Why not? Pink horses? Sure! And then drag a palette knife loaded with orange across the canvas just for fun. On any given day I have a dozen nascent paintings rumbling around in my head like living things, whispering “pick me” and impatient to be born. Sometimes it’s an easy birth and sometimes they emerge kicking and screaming and difficult. Either way, the act of creating, the giving of life to these visions, makes me ridiculously happy. And that is why I paint.
I experience. Then, I paint. My art, like my life, revolves around my chronic migraines. Everything that I do follows the ebb, flow and crest of wellness. When a migraine comes on, even with my eyes closed, I "see" things. Colors and shapes flood my mind in fluid poetry. These mystical images recede, shift, radiate and pulse, becoming more vibrant and vivid with every capture! Frequently, I paint through a migraine, trying to quickly tap into what I see. When I can’t, I’m able to recall the imagery at a later time, and commit that to canvas.
My work is a constant search to best represent the three and often four dimensional images of my mind onto a two dimensional, flat surface. Each piece I create evolves from a meditative and introspective process, wherein I become one with my art: It is being aware in that moment, being mindful, acknowledging the pain and chaos, and losing myself to the visual symphony that unfolds. Some notes are peaceful while others discordant. I've trained myself to paint through the pain and discomfort: my breathing slows down, my jaw unclenches, and my body slowly begins to relax. Often, completing a painting acts as a release, and reminds me that my mind can do more than just process pain: It can transform pain into beauty.