Resilient & Creative
I wish we didn’t need to be resilient. Human beings express creativity from birth, but our resilience is developed through tough experiences – and too many of us have faced more than our share of hardship and suffering. That’s why I am humbled by the way these artists have looked fearlessly into the darkness of human experience and responded with honesty and vulnerability.
The nearly 80 artworks in this exhibition bring viewers face-to-face with the big existential questions of this moment. Resisting the temptation of easy answers, artists unflinchingly explored the impacts of Covid, concerns about environmental crisis, political and social upheaval, and their own deeply personal experiences of pain. There’s plenty of darkness here, but these artworks also exist as an irrepressible testament to human resilience, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges.
Obviously, the impacts of Covid are an ongoing concern for many of us, and numerous artists in this exhibition chose to explore the pandemic in their work. Jen Bracy’s collage series, Let Me Out, captures the artist’s frustration at canceled travel plans, while Mary DePaolo’s Isolation is created from a layered collage of imperfect prints from her Social Distancing series. In Greenhouse Dance, illustrator Stephen Schildbach envisions a quiet, tentative moment of reconnection. Isolation has an uncanny way of making us feel profoundly alone in our experiences, and 18 months of pandemic-related impacts have taken their toll on us all. I believe this artwork is particularly important in reminding us that this is a widespread experience and many others are wrestling with similar challenges.
Another recurrent theme is care for the natural environment, and numerous artworks in this exhibition express deep concern about climate change and environmental collapse. Steve Jensen’s trademark mixed-media boat images contain melted ice from Antarctica and bear ominous twin titles: Save our Shipand Save our Souls. Loreen Matsushima’s richly-textured collagraph prints portray an apocalyptic vision of vast landscapes laid waste by fire. By contrast, Patrice Tullai’s lovingly-detailed paintings draw viewers in with intimate portraits of endangered animal species, reminding us of what’s at stake as human expansion and climate change increasingly threaten the earth’s most vulnerable inhabitants.
While many artists expressed profound fear for the environment, others found resilience and solace in the natural world. Printmaker Monica Gutierrez-Quarto describes her richly-textured New Space woodcut series as “a visual reflection about the resilience of nature.” In a similar vein, watercolorist Siri Stensberg’s intricate compositions lean heavily on imagery drawn from nature, and are inspired by the circuitous paths of water flowing through the landscape. The artist describes watercolor as the perfect visual language to express “the adaptability and resilience found in fluidity.”
In addition to concerns about the natural world, multiple artists addressed the turbulent political and social upheavals of recent years. Allyne Lawson draws on the symbolism of European still-life paintings with It’s Time, an ominous watercolor reflection on the January 6 attack on the U. S. Capitol. Meanwhile Brandin Barón’s elaborate mixed-media illustration, The Memory Palace, highlights the powerful imagery and protest art of the Black Lives Matter movement. And Michael Hower, who served as a frontline healthcare worker during the pandemic, captured his frustration with government inaction through a series of eerie, faceless altered photographs of the abandoned Presidents Heads monuments in Virginia.
By contrast with these sweeping societal concerns, other artists chose to explore deeply private experiences of pain and struggle. Artist Claire Moore describes her delicate pencil-and-goauche artwork as “an entirely disconnected internal self-portrait” that addresses the artist’s ongoing struggle with feeling detached from reality. Meanwhile, David Willis’s intimate tableau, Exposed, captures the artist’s intense feeling of helplessness and vulnerability in the wake of his wife’s recent cancer diagnosis. And photographer Alexandra Gunnoe creates quiet staged scenes from everyday life – a shower floor, a cup of coffee – to express the state of constant fear she experienced while living with a domestic abuser. Although these intensely vulnerable artworks express profoundly painful experiences, they also invite viewers to greater compassion and connection: the exact things that help bolster our resilience in challenging circumstances.
In moments when words prove wholly inadequate, the visual language of abstraction can provide a means to express intense emotions and experiences. Painter Ellie Polk combines loose, calligraphic line work with flowing washes of watercolor and fluid acrylic in her delicate triptych of paintings that reflect on the passage of time. In stark visual contrast, David Straange's bold, intuitive marks and stark compositions may remind viewers of abstract expressionists such as Robert Motherwell or Franz Kline. Meanwhile, Joan Mellon's compact mixed-media assemblages reflect an understated formalist sensibility with their simplified shapes and geometric lines; viewers will note intriguing parallels between Mellon's work and the mid-century modern architecture of the Webster House. And painter Meg Kaczyk, whose works draw on poetry and the Buddhist practice of tonglen, tenderly describes her desire through art "to share access to that tender spot in us all where loss resides."
Where do we turn for respite when it feels like the whole world is on fire? For multiple artists, a daily creative practice is a place of grounding and solace. Carmen Czachor, who works as a veterinarian when she’s not making art, decided to paint a new pet portrait every day for a month. During the initial shutdown, Shari Park drew daily blind contours of a calla lily in her yard. “My favorite moments” she writes, “were when my sense of time and scale shifted: when my gaze slowed me down to a trance like state; when the tip of my pen felt like an ant walking around the edges of the flower, a cavern.” Other artists discovered moments of calm in simple pleasures. Stuck at home with a lack of creative inspiration, Elisabeth Mention discovered a surprising new muse in the vegetables on her kitchen counter. Meanwhile, photographer Jennifer Dougherty’s poignant black-and-white image, Worth the Wait, documents a group of masked youngsters waiting in line for ice cream at the beach.
Perhaps an ice cream with friends is a small comfort after months of isolation. Perhaps the same could be said for making art about resilience, or viewing that same art. But perhaps it is exactly these “small” comforts that bolster our resilience through challenging times. The works of art in this exhibition remind us that we are not alone in wrestling with existential questions, and that compassion and connection can help us navigate even the darkest facets of human experience.
Sarah Jane
August 2021
The nearly 80 artworks in this exhibition bring viewers face-to-face with the big existential questions of this moment. Resisting the temptation of easy answers, artists unflinchingly explored the impacts of Covid, concerns about environmental crisis, political and social upheaval, and their own deeply personal experiences of pain. There’s plenty of darkness here, but these artworks also exist as an irrepressible testament to human resilience, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges.
Obviously, the impacts of Covid are an ongoing concern for many of us, and numerous artists in this exhibition chose to explore the pandemic in their work. Jen Bracy’s collage series, Let Me Out, captures the artist’s frustration at canceled travel plans, while Mary DePaolo’s Isolation is created from a layered collage of imperfect prints from her Social Distancing series. In Greenhouse Dance, illustrator Stephen Schildbach envisions a quiet, tentative moment of reconnection. Isolation has an uncanny way of making us feel profoundly alone in our experiences, and 18 months of pandemic-related impacts have taken their toll on us all. I believe this artwork is particularly important in reminding us that this is a widespread experience and many others are wrestling with similar challenges.
Another recurrent theme is care for the natural environment, and numerous artworks in this exhibition express deep concern about climate change and environmental collapse. Steve Jensen’s trademark mixed-media boat images contain melted ice from Antarctica and bear ominous twin titles: Save our Shipand Save our Souls. Loreen Matsushima’s richly-textured collagraph prints portray an apocalyptic vision of vast landscapes laid waste by fire. By contrast, Patrice Tullai’s lovingly-detailed paintings draw viewers in with intimate portraits of endangered animal species, reminding us of what’s at stake as human expansion and climate change increasingly threaten the earth’s most vulnerable inhabitants.
While many artists expressed profound fear for the environment, others found resilience and solace in the natural world. Printmaker Monica Gutierrez-Quarto describes her richly-textured New Space woodcut series as “a visual reflection about the resilience of nature.” In a similar vein, watercolorist Siri Stensberg’s intricate compositions lean heavily on imagery drawn from nature, and are inspired by the circuitous paths of water flowing through the landscape. The artist describes watercolor as the perfect visual language to express “the adaptability and resilience found in fluidity.”
In addition to concerns about the natural world, multiple artists addressed the turbulent political and social upheavals of recent years. Allyne Lawson draws on the symbolism of European still-life paintings with It’s Time, an ominous watercolor reflection on the January 6 attack on the U. S. Capitol. Meanwhile Brandin Barón’s elaborate mixed-media illustration, The Memory Palace, highlights the powerful imagery and protest art of the Black Lives Matter movement. And Michael Hower, who served as a frontline healthcare worker during the pandemic, captured his frustration with government inaction through a series of eerie, faceless altered photographs of the abandoned Presidents Heads monuments in Virginia.
By contrast with these sweeping societal concerns, other artists chose to explore deeply private experiences of pain and struggle. Artist Claire Moore describes her delicate pencil-and-goauche artwork as “an entirely disconnected internal self-portrait” that addresses the artist’s ongoing struggle with feeling detached from reality. Meanwhile, David Willis’s intimate tableau, Exposed, captures the artist’s intense feeling of helplessness and vulnerability in the wake of his wife’s recent cancer diagnosis. And photographer Alexandra Gunnoe creates quiet staged scenes from everyday life – a shower floor, a cup of coffee – to express the state of constant fear she experienced while living with a domestic abuser. Although these intensely vulnerable artworks express profoundly painful experiences, they also invite viewers to greater compassion and connection: the exact things that help bolster our resilience in challenging circumstances.
In moments when words prove wholly inadequate, the visual language of abstraction can provide a means to express intense emotions and experiences. Painter Ellie Polk combines loose, calligraphic line work with flowing washes of watercolor and fluid acrylic in her delicate triptych of paintings that reflect on the passage of time. In stark visual contrast, David Straange's bold, intuitive marks and stark compositions may remind viewers of abstract expressionists such as Robert Motherwell or Franz Kline. Meanwhile, Joan Mellon's compact mixed-media assemblages reflect an understated formalist sensibility with their simplified shapes and geometric lines; viewers will note intriguing parallels between Mellon's work and the mid-century modern architecture of the Webster House. And painter Meg Kaczyk, whose works draw on poetry and the Buddhist practice of tonglen, tenderly describes her desire through art "to share access to that tender spot in us all where loss resides."
Where do we turn for respite when it feels like the whole world is on fire? For multiple artists, a daily creative practice is a place of grounding and solace. Carmen Czachor, who works as a veterinarian when she’s not making art, decided to paint a new pet portrait every day for a month. During the initial shutdown, Shari Park drew daily blind contours of a calla lily in her yard. “My favorite moments” she writes, “were when my sense of time and scale shifted: when my gaze slowed me down to a trance like state; when the tip of my pen felt like an ant walking around the edges of the flower, a cavern.” Other artists discovered moments of calm in simple pleasures. Stuck at home with a lack of creative inspiration, Elisabeth Mention discovered a surprising new muse in the vegetables on her kitchen counter. Meanwhile, photographer Jennifer Dougherty’s poignant black-and-white image, Worth the Wait, documents a group of masked youngsters waiting in line for ice cream at the beach.
Perhaps an ice cream with friends is a small comfort after months of isolation. Perhaps the same could be said for making art about resilience, or viewing that same art. But perhaps it is exactly these “small” comforts that bolster our resilience through challenging times. The works of art in this exhibition remind us that we are not alone in wrestling with existential questions, and that compassion and connection can help us navigate even the darkest facets of human experience.
Sarah Jane
August 2021