My whole life I have used art as a language. Colors are my numbers to a mathematician. It isn’t even just as they are, what they are….it is them in relation - to each other, to their own negative space, to texture and light.
There is grounding in color. Rules. And yet unfurling, new truths discovered every movement or so.
The act of making art, seeing and allowing and creating gives me a sense of belonging, a way to tap into the humanness that connects us all. Like birth. And color is my vehicle.
The first sketchbook drawing I did my sophomore year of high school that included color was a quick still life sketch of my bed post and various things I had hanging. My Miss Honey of an art teacher left a little post it note that just said ‘Color!! More, more!’
Indeed, Mrs.Hilbish.
I wonder sometimes if perhaps my ability to see so many colors in what others see as a single color is what drives me to create. I want others to see, too. The neurodiverse yearning for understanding.
My brain, between electrical storms and extra synapses, has been quite dramatic lately. Which is how the ER doctor described my FL41 glasses in his report. ‘Patient wore sunglasses, dramatic effect.’ Specialized migraine glasses are as dramatic as a cane or walker or hearing aid. Fuck, my dude. But of course, I am a hysterical, fainting woman.
Exits the room in Miss Piggy fashion.
