Over the last 4 months, I make the short drive to my studio almost daily, doing my best to stay calm with each passing second. When I hit the green lights I feel like it’s a little ‘chill out’ nudge from God; Even better yet if it is a pretty day outside and the matcha is flowing. As I park, making sure no cars are zipping by, I grab my always-way-too-full bag, my water jug (hydration is important) and unlock my studio door. I put my things down, do a slow scan of the room and steadily familiarize myself with the motions from my last session, tapping into my sturdy painter within… my new self that isn't overwhelmed while working on two shows at once. She isn't afraid of the self-proclaimed teenage years (a.k.a. flat out ugly parts) of the painting. She is proud of herself and makes strong work. She is known for her heart. She can defy the odds. She can grow and stay grounded. She is me.

And it is within these moments I tune out the rest of the world and switch into go-mode.

I turn on my music/podcast (or often nothing at all) and I walk over to my storage shelves. I lug my buckets of paint that seem to get heavier by the day and skip to grab my clean brushes from the sink, dry from the day before. I unload everything to my work table, always feeling like Rachel Ray grabbing too many items out of the fridge at once while I'm one my own cooking show (or maybe, painting show). I search the studio for this once piece of furniture I can never seems to find – a little brown, broken stool I've had since undergrad. And I balance on the too-little seat in front of the work, about 15-feet back from the wall, as I patiently stare and wait.

This is the part that has taken me years to honor. And I'm proud of myself for finally becoming comfortable with the lulls between answers for the work.

As I focus on the paintings and stay hopeful for their next solutions, I find myself not worrying about my looming deadlines and becoming more fluid as I paint. When I hit a roadblock I simply remind myself to keep breathing in and out, to stay present in the moment and pretend that I'm finally able to ‘paint for fun’ once and for all. (For the record, I would never want to ‘paint for fun’. I prefer to skid the line of pressure and pleasure with my work. This is something I discovered over the last few months and am so glad I was able to find this out, once and for all; Bitterness has completely dissolved like sugar. Or matcha.)

Throughout the creation of these eight paintings, that inner knowing finally shows itself once the waiting-on-the-stool glory moments are done (super, super glamorous), spanning from little lightning bolts of precise, assured action to slow, foggy senses of self-doubt. This usually looks like smudging paint where I know it will work. The latter moments allow me to lean on my education and training. It's not all intention and intuition – it's a dreamy cocktail of what I know to be true, what I feel in my bones and what I must say or life will lose all meaning as I know it.

Cue dramatic art kid.

And here we are now.

The work is layered and not just in a visual sense! You can feel the emotion and where I was in my head each day, whether it be dreamy and fluid or stuck and scrambling for that final solution. So over these last 4 months, these paintings for Broad Strokes have been at the forefront of my practice. And this body of work allowed to be push myself and explore new methods that previously didn't have a place within my work.

A mix of old and new versions of myself, playing nice and finding their own seat at the table. Or, in this case, the surface of a middle Georgia built, pristine birch panel. I love painting on wood – it's a more sleek, modern take to my often ethereal or punchy paintings.

Creating this work felt scary, sad, exciting and exhilarating, often all at once. Simply put, these paintings are the visual representation of my life over the highs and lows I've felt thus far this year and in my life... all in hopes to tug at your heartstrings and make that connection to self seem a bit more tangible. At the end of the day, the word is complex. It will keep you on your toes. It will keep you finding more.

This work is me.
And I thank you for wanting to be a part of the journey.

xx, Allison