When I was young, my mom bought me reams of clean newsprint to paint on. I tore through construction and white paper. And later, older, probably 8 or 9, I remember looking through a book of color plates of everything that Henri Matisse had ever painted. I was so struck by his evolution; (though I wouldn’t have known the word for it) from realistic still life and portrait work to the wild Jazz paintings of his exuberant later years.
I am still most taken by his time in Nice, France, where he lavishly painted with color and pattern. I would run my fingers over the colors and flip through the book until it was worn. Fast forward to high school, where I had a wonderful, nurturing teacher who encouraged artistic independent study. Then college, where I started as an art studio major and where I found that critiques could suck the fun out of all my creative play. The 17-year-old-me didn’t yet know the words “impostor syndrome.” But, now, it’s very clear that I had a severe case. I wish I had not taken these conditions so seriously but instead, had had a little fun (and faith) that the 17 year-old-Anne was on the right track. When you graduated with an art history degree (I always appreciated critiquing other artists so much more than being critiqued!) it was inevitable that you would, one day, look for a job at an art museum. And In my 20’s, I was fortunate enough to land a position at the Speed Art Museum in my hometown of Louisville, Ky. Working with and amongst art was a gift in my early 20’s... and I continued to hone the appreciation for art I’d always savored. But there was something missing… Was it enough to simply appreciate other artists? Sometimes...and sometimes not. When opportunity arose, I’d still occasionally pick up my paint brushes for a fun side project, a friend's party that would need decorations or a covert self portrait that would quickly be put away. But there was always the question; why was I dimming my own artistic light? A touchstone moment in my development came when my twins turned 2. It was Mother’s Day and my then-husband bought me an 8 week session of painting classes at Preston Arts Center. While I was incredibly nervous to be critiqued again, I was equally excited about the prospect of forging some sense of identity beyond that of a mother who would, at regular intervals, “cut fruit into small pieces, 7 times a day.” Anyone else have 2 year olds? With a sense of excitement, trepidation, and the requisite number of butterflies, I showed up to class. I was gratified to find, even with the critique, sympathetic and kind guidance. I continually re-enrolled with that class every 8 weeks, without fail, over many seasons... until the Pandemic of 2020. So, if you’re keeping track, I painted with my teacher, and now dear friend, Emily, at Preston Arts Center every single Monday night for 15 years. That’s the thing; I have to be consistent, I have to be brave, I have to keep showing up. As soon as those classes begin again, I will be back. Not because I can’t or don’t paint on my own but because now, I have forged friendships, created rhythms, and have drawn great inspiration from being in company with like-minded people. In the intervening years, as my kids grew, I began to show my work in galleries. First one piece, then a shared or group show, and finally a few solo shows. The moment that I answered, “I’m an artist” to someone who was asking ‘what do you do’ (this was in 2015), I got goosebumps. This was a decade after starting classes and showing up for myself. The educator and artist Emily Jeffords says “progress is quiet and slow,” and I’m living proof of that. There are always small moments along the way, small moments that nudge me along, that urges me to keep going. I am incredibly proud of the work I’ve done; on behalf of the clients who’ve commissioned me to do a landscape painting, a pet portrait, to the explorations I’ve done in pursuit of imagination and the craft of painting. The essence of my work is meaning and intuition. Can I bring meaning to your walls and can I bring meaning to mine? Much more ambitious, but oh so important, can I also bring meaning to my life? What gift do I have to share that is mine alone? How can I use the gifts I’ve been given (and cultivated) to share meaning with you? If it sounds ethereal or pompous, thanks for letting me go there! I am a meaning-maker, intuitive and determined to use my earnest desire, years of experience, and talent to uplift myself & others. It still gives me goosebumps to answer that question.
2 Comments
11/18/2022 03:21:42 am
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Jess Lynn Best
10/10/2023 07:18:43 pm
This story is so inspiring. Even if not an artist, your journey is relatable and encouraging for other pursuits of the heart. I enjoyed the read and your paintings very much. Thanks for sharing it all!
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AuthorAnne Borders is a landscape painter living in Louisville, Kentucky. Archives
February 2022
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