I’ve lived a life of responsibility as a big sister of five brothers, a wife, a
mother of three daughters, a teacher and administrator for hundreds of
children, and now a grandmother of five. Since retiring as an educator, my husband Keith and I are now responsible for three dogs and a backyard of mature trees (and if you know dogs and trees that’s not an easy task). These days, I sit in my backyard or studio with a cup of coffee or beer to think, write, and draw in my own time. If I’m not in my backyard or studio, I’m walking in the woods or traveling.

My responsibility to the world has shifted from active participation to more of an observer of life. As an educator and mother I lived in the “mess” of things. I solved a hundred problems a day and woke up the next morning to do it all again, and again, and again. So this more passive life is to say the least different.

Drawing and writing my thoughts and feelings as a full-time job, not as therapy to stay sane in a chaotic world, allows me to dig deeper into why I think and feel the way I do. The product of this new time is my drawings, my perspective of the world.   

In my life, I’ve known more than my fair share of people who have called themselves realists. They’ve usually been people who see problems with no solutions—” that’s the way things are” kind of people. When they would tell me they were realist, I would think, me too—but not like you. Therefore, I’ve concluded that there are two types of realists: the pessimistic realist and the optimistic realist. The pessimist sees problems as fixed, nothing to be done; the optimist sees the same problem but sees how it can be fixed—sees that change can occur with a plan and work. 

I am an optimistic realist. My art tells the stories of the
problems we face as individuals and communities, but I see none of these things as hopeless. I believe in us and the future. My task as an artist and observer of life is to create an image that communicates the problems I see— and seeing the problem is halfway to a solution. Some people ask if dreams are my inspiration for my drawings, and I respond by telling them no. When I draw, I’m wide awake.

At times, I find myself identifying as a surrealist, a symbolist, or simply a storyteller. With my Kentucky roots, storytelling seems most fitting, yet not entirely comprehensive. Hence, I’ve coined a term for my art, one that encapsulates the problem-solving relationship I mentioned earlier—an Optimistic Realist. As an Optimistic Realist, I assume the role of a social critic, a position that may stem from my upbringing in a religious household, my career as an educator, or perhaps both.

We seem to be taught or conditioned to see the world in binary terms. Maybe this is how we learn to understand ourselves and fashion an identity. We constantly compare ourselves to others. These others who are different from us are the antithesis of ourselves. We learn to understand ourselves by who we are and who we are not. There is a positive and negative pull to this understanding of ourselves.

Religion amplifies this positive and negative pull, defining it with the morality of good and evil. However, the “good” and “evil” of religion muddies the water in finding an authentic identity. With religion, we are not looking at the positive and negative of ourselves; we are looking at the positive and negative of our place within religion as defined by a bunch of “holy” dead men. Religion morphs the “other” as the enemy, the enemy of good. After all, in binary terms

“we” are good “they” are “evil.” Within this overarching battle of good and evil, individuals lose themselves, never finding their authentic selves. I write this as part of my artist statement because religion defined so much of me and how my version of good and evil was so simplistic and, in many cases, cruel. I am now unraveling this entanglement with my lines and symbols—my meanings about a world that needs empathy and understanding, not an iron fist of theological doctrines. I have a strong need to untangle myself from the injustice of a religion that sees only itself as having “truth.” This “truth” has caused so much social misery, unhappiness, and death that I must address in my art. We need new mythologies about what is good and what is evil to move toward a truth. That includes everyone, not just the “chosen” few. I don’t say this to persuade you from religion but to caution you to religion’s imperfection and divisiveness.

Religion and society, in general, give us roles to play—whether we’re suited for the role. This is true for men and women but much more confining for women. My art reflects the binary pull from the perspective of a woman. I am keener on this pull as a woman because my journey in finding my artistic voice has been so convoluted by what society and my religion labeled as my “should be.” I have no choice but to be optimistic because it’s the only way to dig myself out of the deep hole religion has dug for me and others who may see a different path other than the one society or religion has reserved for us.

As an Optimistic Realist, I chronicle humanity's sorrow, strife, and detachment from nature, all from my unique perspective. I urge the viewer to contemplate and delve into my portrayal of these human imperfections. My work is for those who perceive a world beyond themselves and empathize with others. Recognizing our shared humanity is crucial in comprehending the differences that often separate us. We, as humans, are deeply intertwined with each other and with nature. If we could learn to see past the artificial barriers we construct, we could address the issues that hinder many from partaking in a just life.

My art is a process of going from a vague idea to a detailed complexity of lines and values—the direction my lines take is dictated by the rhythm and balance of the composition, which is bound to the contrasts of positive and negative space. By embracing uncertainty and letting go of perfectionism, my creative process involves finding symbols representing emotions and imperfections within myself and society. My symbols emerge into definitions of my ideas, orchestrated to tell a story.