Human. Animal. Plant. Insect. Object. How and why do we measure the distance between these things? The multitude of ways that we interact with and respect one another almost never fails to fit into a hierarchy. We allow unspeakable violence into our daily lives via factory farming by using the words, “they’re just animals.” This way of thinking, however tends to migrate to human interaction: She’s just a woman. He’s just an entry-level worker. This mindset can stem even from such mundane objects as our shoes; we are more likely to kick them off and throw them in a heap than we are to consider what they are made of, who made them, and how vital they really are for us. Nothing in this world is ever ‘just,’ ‘merely,’ or ‘only.’
These five paintings intend to bridge the distance between the levels of our hierarchy. When thrown into piles and put on display, the humans, animals, plants, insects, and objects of this world start to look pretty similar.
These five paintings intend to bridge the distance between the levels of our hierarchy. When thrown into piles and put on display, the humans, animals, plants, insects, and objects of this world start to look pretty similar.
Bridging the Distance: The Painting Process
When I first started painting this series, I was very focused on getting out a message, on using a visual language to show others my viewpoints and opinions on how the world should be. Upon the completion of these works, when putting the last glistening touches on my spider webs, it occurred to me that the most profound change that had already happened through this series was found within myself. I am a different person now than when I started, and the credit for this is owed to the wonderful healing, empathic powers of the painting process.
Insides
The first in the series, this painting marked a major turning point in my career. Prior to painting this piece, my work dealt heavily with the differences between peoples - how our outward physical differences have been the cause of much strife and suffering throughout history. With this piece, I shifted my focus more to the positive: we are all the same on the inside. We all share a human experience that involves suffering and joy in one way or another. We are all susceptible to illness and pain. We know what it feels like to lose people, lose hope, “lose it,” to be mad at ourselves. I find that understanding why people act a certain way is a lot easier when I can relate their feelings and situations with my own experiences – and it is worth doing for every single person that I come across.
Animals
The second in the series, this pile of animals showed me the emotive side of the painting process. I have always been an advocate for animal rights, but had never truly cried for a pig until spending several hours shaping it into a life-like object from a blurry photo. This was a very difficult painting to get through (as I can imagine it is difficult to look at) but in the end, left me with several important questions. What kind of mindset justifies violence? Does our treatment of animals affect how we treat people? Would objectification be so bad if we treated everything, even objects, with respect and dignity?
Shoes
The third painting in the series, ‘Shoes’ showed me the value of appreciation and care-taking. We currently live in a society where ‘progress’ and ‘innovation’ equals waste. When we see advertising that actually now encourages people to destroy their current phones and electronics in order to get newer, better things, it’s hard to get out of the ‘upgrade’ mindset. We kick off our shoes, toss things aside and shove ‘stuff’ out of the way on a daily basis because all we see is potential garbage. Believe it or not, I find that how I treat my things affects how I treat the people around me. If I have time to neatly line my shoes up, I have time to consider the people who made and sold them, the people who need them; to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes.
Plants
The fourth in the series, the meticulous nature of these weeds, seeds, and flowers gave me no choice but to spend a great deal of time taking in every twist, curl, ridge, vein, and shade of green from a handful of plants from my own back yard. Leaf veins began to look like rib cages, roots began to look like arteries, velvety petals like skin. I found myself using less and less paper towel in my daily life. I noticed myself personifying the plants around me. Wondering how they were doing in the cold of the 2014 polar vortex. There’s a strange nostalgia that comes with spending so much time with a bunch of dead garden flowers; I’ve known them my whole life, and the inexplicable thankfulness I feel toward them was finally able to be realized in making them big, beautiful, and long-lasting.
Insects
The last in the series, I approached this painting with a crippling fear of spiders. So naturally, I started with one. It was even difficult for me to eat my lunch in the presence of this painting. But like everything else I’ve experienced on this journey, when you spend hours making something big and beautiful, you appreciate and respect its presence in real life. What really is the distance between insects and humans – the distance from our head to our feet? Why do I feel no horror when sweeping ant carcasses off the floor, as opposed to anything larger? I still fear spiders, but I no longer kill them.
This painting process, as I stated earlier, has changed me, and I affirm that it has been for the better. It has helped me to replace a lot of anger with understanding and hopefulness, to really see when I look around. Art speaks a language that cannot be articulated in any other way. You make it, you look at it, you love it, you hate it, you take it all in and then you’re different.
When I first started painting this series, I was very focused on getting out a message, on using a visual language to show others my viewpoints and opinions on how the world should be. Upon the completion of these works, when putting the last glistening touches on my spider webs, it occurred to me that the most profound change that had already happened through this series was found within myself. I am a different person now than when I started, and the credit for this is owed to the wonderful healing, empathic powers of the painting process.
Insides
The first in the series, this painting marked a major turning point in my career. Prior to painting this piece, my work dealt heavily with the differences between peoples - how our outward physical differences have been the cause of much strife and suffering throughout history. With this piece, I shifted my focus more to the positive: we are all the same on the inside. We all share a human experience that involves suffering and joy in one way or another. We are all susceptible to illness and pain. We know what it feels like to lose people, lose hope, “lose it,” to be mad at ourselves. I find that understanding why people act a certain way is a lot easier when I can relate their feelings and situations with my own experiences – and it is worth doing for every single person that I come across.
Animals
The second in the series, this pile of animals showed me the emotive side of the painting process. I have always been an advocate for animal rights, but had never truly cried for a pig until spending several hours shaping it into a life-like object from a blurry photo. This was a very difficult painting to get through (as I can imagine it is difficult to look at) but in the end, left me with several important questions. What kind of mindset justifies violence? Does our treatment of animals affect how we treat people? Would objectification be so bad if we treated everything, even objects, with respect and dignity?
Shoes
The third painting in the series, ‘Shoes’ showed me the value of appreciation and care-taking. We currently live in a society where ‘progress’ and ‘innovation’ equals waste. When we see advertising that actually now encourages people to destroy their current phones and electronics in order to get newer, better things, it’s hard to get out of the ‘upgrade’ mindset. We kick off our shoes, toss things aside and shove ‘stuff’ out of the way on a daily basis because all we see is potential garbage. Believe it or not, I find that how I treat my things affects how I treat the people around me. If I have time to neatly line my shoes up, I have time to consider the people who made and sold them, the people who need them; to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes.
Plants
The fourth in the series, the meticulous nature of these weeds, seeds, and flowers gave me no choice but to spend a great deal of time taking in every twist, curl, ridge, vein, and shade of green from a handful of plants from my own back yard. Leaf veins began to look like rib cages, roots began to look like arteries, velvety petals like skin. I found myself using less and less paper towel in my daily life. I noticed myself personifying the plants around me. Wondering how they were doing in the cold of the 2014 polar vortex. There’s a strange nostalgia that comes with spending so much time with a bunch of dead garden flowers; I’ve known them my whole life, and the inexplicable thankfulness I feel toward them was finally able to be realized in making them big, beautiful, and long-lasting.
Insects
The last in the series, I approached this painting with a crippling fear of spiders. So naturally, I started with one. It was even difficult for me to eat my lunch in the presence of this painting. But like everything else I’ve experienced on this journey, when you spend hours making something big and beautiful, you appreciate and respect its presence in real life. What really is the distance between insects and humans – the distance from our head to our feet? Why do I feel no horror when sweeping ant carcasses off the floor, as opposed to anything larger? I still fear spiders, but I no longer kill them.
This painting process, as I stated earlier, has changed me, and I affirm that it has been for the better. It has helped me to replace a lot of anger with understanding and hopefulness, to really see when I look around. Art speaks a language that cannot be articulated in any other way. You make it, you look at it, you love it, you hate it, you take it all in and then you’re different.
