Bloom where you're planted
Thoughts on resilience and joy from a live panel discussion with artists Tara Daly, Mary Finlayson, and Rachel Kaye
This past weekend I went to a talk at David Kordansky Gallery about the late, New York painter Martha Diamond. It was a panel with a couple of curators, Diamond’s former assistant and contemporary paintress Mary Weatherford. They talked about abstraction versus non-objective painting, what it means to paint New York skyscrapers but show the work in Los Angeles, the subject versus the topic of the painting and many other nerdy topics. It made me realize that despite countless hours spent making art and nurturing my art career, I spend very little time talking about the theory and craft of painting.
Only in studio visits with other artists and in the occasional review of a show do I spend time really unpacking work. Why is that, I wonder? I think partly because the enjoyment of art can feel like a luxury and a bit of work sometimes. Because it’s less fun to do that unpacking by yourself. And because we don’t often have moderators sitting around with us at the bar asking us deep questions about paint-handling.
There’s also apathy. It can be hard to keep caring with you’re focused on paying the bills, juggling family and social life, and staying in shape and just trying to squeeze out some decent work. This feels doubly true for women. There are so many things that could pull us away from the studio that are sanctioned by society, that it feels like a rebellion to carve out quiet time in the studio.
The joy for me comes from a visceral experience in making. It's not something that's cerebral. - Tara Daly
It is for all these reasons and more that I chose resilience and joy as the topics of the recent panel I hosted with
Gallery, part of the Pure Beauty show I was in last month.All four of the artists in the show, Tara Daly, Mary Finlayson, Rachel Kaye and myself, could be considered as past our first mountains career-wise. We all have had to overcome the roadblocks of the early career and seem to have shifted into a more sustainable, and maybe more satisfying, model of what it means to be an artist over time.
For myself, resilience has been something that I have had to cultivate as I have faced the swings and arrows of fortune. While I would prefer not to have to cultivate so much of it, the many challenges over the years have clarified my focus and my priorities. I now prioritize community and giving back in a way that I didn’t in my 20s. I value advocating for a fair and equitable art market, even when it feels like it’s at the expense of my own career. And I value transparency and empowering others to be artists, even when it feels scary to speak the truth.
For others, resilience has meant more time with their family, eking out minutes in the studio when they can, or strapping a baby to the stomach while they paint in acrylic instead of oil. Or it means making art at home at your kitchen table, while you figure out how to make extra cash to afford a studio.
Both here and in San Francisco I have seen the phrase, “Bloom where you’re planted” graffitied somewhere along my commute to my studio and it has been a good reminder that creativity and community can grow anywhere - as much as I love the excuses that things aren’t just right for me to make my best work.
Some of my best ideas, and the most joy, have come when I have accepted the limitations of my situation rather than tried to make them something they weren’t. For example, in 2015 when I took over The Painting Salon, a living room artist lecture series, from Rebekah Goldstein I didn’t have a living room. There was no getting around the fact that 15-30 people were just not going to fit in my kitchen, much less a projector. For a minute I felt bad and embarrassed that I wasn’t more of an adult with a common space for hosting people. I considered hosting at my studio, but again the space was an issue. But I knew I could do it regardless of these missing pieces, so I brainstormed.
The joy art can bring is not measurable by scale, or by effort put in. Whether it’s made with people, or alone, with materials or just out of ideas. It’s a resonance that you feel in your bones and in your gut.
Eventually I got the idea to start talking to local galleries and found that people were very interested in hosting a talk, especially if it aligned with their programming. Suddenly my options were wide open, and The Painting Salon community was able to grow beyond the people I knew into something that could serve more people than I ever could have hoped.
This brings me to subject of joy, the other part of the talk. One of the questions from the audience during the talk came from an exhausted mom. She said, “Making art as a mom- I have three kids- is really joyful and it makes me a better mother because I feel like I'm making this one thing that's not getting unraveled.”
She explained that she gets caught in a Sisyphean cycle of tasks - laundry, making meals that get eaten, picking up toys- but none of them are truly ever done. So, what about the joy??
The response was mostly about the time and space one gets in the studio to be present for what comes up.
Rachel Kaye, who is also a mom, said:
“It's kind of those quiet moments where you're just figuring things out that are really magical, you know? And that's a very different experience than showing [in a gallery], not that showing doesn't give me joy, but it's the making part.”
And Tara Daly echoed a similar sentiment:
“Playing around on the palette, mixing up paints, and all the time that that takes. That is a joyous moment and just watching color, putting colors next to each other and the relationships that they create. The joy for me comes from a visceral experience in making, it's not something that's cerebral.”
It can be hard to get out of your head and into the moment if you’re busy with life or deadlines, but that shift is maybe one of the biggest gifts that art-making has to offer.
Making art has been a solace for me in my darkest moments. The drawing above is something I made at 5am before I started my day job as a recruiter back in 2021. At the time I was paying rent weekly thanks to the generosity of a friend, struggling to make ends meet despite a full-time job and wading through the grief of recently losing my dad. Art in the morning was the thing I forced myself to do because I wanted to start the day out on my terms, even if the rest of it wasn’t. During this time I made desperately cheerful work because I needed cheer so badly.
Looking back, what amazes me about art-making is that it is so easy to create joy for yourself and others through it. All it takes is an idea and you can use whatever resources you have available, whether it’s a colored pencil on paper or oil paint on a giant canvas. The joy art can bring is not measurable by scale, or by effort put in, whether it’s made with people, or alone, with materials or just out of ideas. It’s a resonance that you feel in your bones and in your gut.
What are some ways you have used the least to make the most?