My life is my family...

As my five girls grew up I acted as chef, maid, support-system, hairdresser, tutor, and stylist. Some of my jobs are remembered with fondness (the calligraphed lunch bags; breakfasts at the diner on school days: you can miss the first hour, your mommy said so!), while others are remembered with cringing embarrassment (floppy hair bows and yellow tights; the ever chastised Entenmann’s corner). With every year came the book reports and science fairs; the creation and recreation of Caddy Woodlawn’s dolly, the endless slew of make-your-own-seder-hagadas. A few trips to A.C. Moore, and a couple of nip n’ tucks to bring life into Ms. Woodlawn’s beloved doll, is about all the flexing my artistic muscles got. Until 2011. My 17-year-old at the time and the youngest of my girls, decided she wanted to "bond." With me.
Equal parts shock and intrigue led me to ask what exactly we should bond over. Danielle stated that we would take art classes this summer, since we both liked to draw. Since she was a toddler, my youngest has always been drawn to the arts: an illustrator throughout highschool, avid reader, self-proclaimed story-teller, and music enthusiast. As uncomfortable as I was with the prospect of standing in front of an easel and creating amateur adaptations of whatever piece of fruit the teacher deemed our day’s “still life,” I was touched that my teenager still wanted to spend time with me, still needed me and wanted one-on-one time.

Fast forward 5 years of unintentional face-painting, frustrating self-critiques, countless excuses to avoid 3 hours of challenge – essentially, the emotional turmoil that is the artistic process – I survived, with flying colors of oil and water! – Most of which have landed on my once-perfectly painted walls and 60% of my clothing. An idea I walked into with apprehension in my own abilities flourished into a newfound confidence – an unveiled talent, a means of expression and interpretation. Where I once would look at a painting – in my dark days before my own personal renaissance – and just see a pretty flower, or, say, a bouquet of pretty flowers held by a pretty little girl, I now see shapes; brushstroke; lightness and darkness; the real colors in the sky before it becomes the sky of early spring; the magentas and greens in the little girl’s soft, milky complexion; the time and technique the artist took to create each petal of each flower, as they bloom effortlessly in the girl’s hands.

Artworks, which many of us take for granted in our homes, in restaurants, displays on virtually every street in New York, peddled by their creators, now overwhelm me in their detail and individual beauty. I find painting – even when I am most aggravated to the point of talking to my brushes and canvas out loud, willing them to cooperate – a therapeutic release from the daily buildup of stress and errands; an endless relay race of dinners and holidays, cleaning and preparing and checking-in with 5 different daughters living 5 very different lives. In my little makeshift studio, it is just me and my organized mess of paints, brushes, bottles of turpentine, and canvases that barely fit through the archway. My mind thinks of nothing else but the job to do in that moment.  

This year, Summer 2016, is the first summer in the past 5 years my daughter and I are not taking class. On Tuesday afternoons we do not leave the art studio covered in pastel colors up to our elbows; Monday mornings we  no longer stand questioning our oil-paintings-in-progress,  wondering what we were thinking, why we haven’t yet gotten the hang of it after a year, two years, three, or four. Wednesdays at 2, upon leaving watercolor class, we are not driving to lunch, or to Wegman’s, or the health food store Danielle loves. We are not grumpy together, and we are not laughing together, and we are not endlessly fighting over control of the radio as we drive away from the studio, homebound.

Though, always the critic, Danielle is the first one to come home on the weekend, drop her bags and truthfully appraise my latest piece, offering blatant advice on how to push my own limits. I now explore a wide variety of mediums and styles I never would have found in the classical setting of a technique-driven art class; I guess you could say I spread my wings this year. From minimalist watercolor depictions, to large scale mixed media works, I have truly thrown myself into my work, and now, I would like to share some of my creations, inspirations, and stories with you here. So welcome to the Artistic Experiment that is Susie B Art.