For the first time in awhile, I feel like my work is evolving; it’s almost as if I’m discovering my passion for art all over again. My outlook towards my work and art in general feels different from what it was in high school, my short stint in art school, and community college. I really believe this is related to the changes in my personal life, whether those personal changes are for better or worse. 

This past December I tagged along with my mother and her friends to Vegas. I went with the intention of visiting someone who lives there - a good friend of mine who I had just met a couple months before. Vacations with my mom is always a little awkward; socializing is something that comes naturally to her - she would love that I join in on her conversations with her friends as if I was just as close to them. To me this is weird, but I didn’t want my quietness to be interpreted as being impolite - so I made some efforts. At breakfast one day, her best friend started talking to me about Picasso’s blue period, which holds some of the most beautiful paintings I’ve ever seen. I actually sort of admire my mom’s best friend, because she’s an independent and genuinely happy middle-aged woman who doesn’t want children (…goes to show that it’s not always just a phase! I have nothing against people who actually want kids though) and she’s been able to maintain a long-term friendship with my mom without going insane - that’s true happiness to me. Or maybe I just don’t know my mother well enough, but that discussion is for another day.

So anyway, she goes on saying that Picasso started painting in blue after his friend committed suicide, and then she pointed out that she noticed I used this color often in my own work – kind of implying that I wasn’t really a happy person either, or at least not in this stage of my life. She also told me that people could change, sort of reassuring me that whatever I’m experiencing wouldn’t last forever. I don’t know if I said this directly after, but I remember telling her, “I like to paint people who are suffering.” But I guess if I put it that way, I would end up painting everyone because suffering doesn’t discriminate - it doesn’t care if someone has money or kind, stable parents or a pretty face - everyone’s going to suffer in some way or the other. I guess what I really was trying to tell her was that I like to paint people I’ve felt a connection to, and seeing them in some degree of vulnerability plays a role in that. Like I said before, it’s kind of my way of showing that they’re in my thoughts, and also my wishes for them to know that the flaws they may see in their personalities and appearance don’t take away from their worth.

But with anything I make, whether it’s a self-portrait or of someone else, I like that it helps me gradually break the wall I have between myself and the environment I’m in. I always thought it would be amazing to be a musician because a good performance could make the whole venue feel like one intimate, genuine conversation. It’s sort of like I’m having that kind of conversation with someone through my paintings, even if my tool is a brush rather than an instrument.

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