No surprise

It should come as no surprise that I’m sitting in UGA’s science library researching right now. Those looking for clues about my upcoming work, here you go 🖤

Three Weeks Already?

Can’t believe it’s already been three weeks since the Sugar & Vice opening! (Have you seen the show yet? It’s on display until September 29th so you only have a couple of weeks to get there!)

New works on the horizon

While Sugar & Vice is up and living its best life at Balance Design in Atlanta, I’m taking this time to sketch, brainstorm, and work on some other exciting projects. Currently on the calendar? An amazing three piece commission for two super awesome people and my next show (coming to Athens this December!)

SUGAR & VICE Artist Statement

*Reminder: the pools seen in this series paintings were created by the melting of popsicles I had previously made out of watercolors and inks

Why popsicles? Because of the nostalgia and the mess. Everyone has a childhood memory that involves a popsicle of some sort. Doesn't matter if they were homemade or store bought, if they were fancy or were nothing more than artificially dyed sugar water in plastic sleeves- it's a memory that we all can relate to. How our tongues and lips would get stained, the pools of melted colors left behind when they melted.

Sugar & Vice (a play on the nursery rhyme that girls are "sugar and spice and everything nice") is the story of growing up. The sometimes funny, sometimes sad -oftentimes confusing- road between girlhood and womanhood. How those stages melt into each other- neither having a definitive beginning or end, and how those experiences leave behind "stains" that influence what we think and who we become.

OF A FEATHER artist statement

“Dull isn't your color.

you were meant to adorn dream catchers

to be celebrated,

not crated.

spark your plumes

and emerge anew

resilient

with wings painted the color of rainbows

a kaleidoscope of possibilities

magnified by your light.”

-C.Khail

Sketching

I’ve had a sketchbook in handle for as long as I can remember. It sounds like a cliche to say that, but I really don’t remember a time I wasn’t sketching something. When I was incredibly young, I assume the majority of those “sketches” were more abstracted scribbles, but as I grew, I started to study drawing books more, tried drawing from life, etc. By the time I was in high school, art was what I did. To be fair, it wasn’t hard for me to study art because I had attended a fine arts school magnet school starting when I was ten until I graduated. (And as it was made painfully aware thanks to required ballet classes, I was NOT very gifted in the art of dance. I also lacked the ear for the violin- which I can in fact play- but I was never any good at tuning my instrument without help.)

I was always at home with art though. That clicked. My head matched my heart-which through some glorious combination of patience, talent, and magic-translated through my hands.

That said though, rarely does anything just “come out perfectly” the first time. It’s like my brain is faster than my hands- if I don’t work out my thoughts, everything gets muddied, like a crude translation of a language you barely can speak.

Which is why I sketch. To strengthen those muscles. To make it so natural that it’s essentially just muscle memory. No thought required. Some people journal, but my brain usually goes too quickly for words (which is why you’ll only see snippets of thoughts if you ever look in my sketchbook. Probably why I enjoy poetry as well.) Line work though? My lines can keep up with my brain. My hand can translate my thoughts onto paper- of course it’s normally in a short handed version that only I understand.

This is a page from the third go round of sketches for my upcoming series OF A FEATHER. You can see things beginning to take shape- morph into their final form. What you can’t see are the colors in my head- those usually only come out when the watercolor touches paper.

Are you living your truest life?

These past few months have really put a magnifying glass on everyone’s lives. It’s as though the “busyness” we allowed to clutter our lives before has been removed and so now we’re all incredibly focused on what does and does not make us happy, what we want our lives to look like, and what works for us. Instead of just keeping up with the Joneses, maybe now you’re starting to ask yourselves “do I even want to be the Joneses? Do I even want their life?”

And when you see that they aren’t living your “ultimate goal life” it’s forcing everyone to ask well then what DO I want?

And it can be incredibly scary to actually just sit with yourself and and look inward to see what makes you tick/ what makes you happy; and even scarier to see it an then go for it! (Especially if it’s not the “norm.”)

But I’m here to tell you- you have to keep doing it. The ONLY way that you can live a full and beautiful life that is true to you is, in fact, by being true to you. Not true to what your parents want, what your friends want, what that well meaning stranger who gave you their unsolicited opinion in the grocery store wants- but WHAT YOU WANT.

What makes your heart sing? What makes you feel cared for, content, and joyful? What feels “right?”

That’s what you need to be doing right now.

*steps off soapbox*

📷 of Garnet- an 11”x14” stunner currently available here

The story behind DEVELOP

It’s been fourteen years but I still remember the coolness of the air, the red glow of the single light bulb, and the distinct sound the photo paper made as it floated back-and-forth in the developer tray.

Lift, swoosh, thud.

Drop, swoosh, thud.

Melodic in its monotony, the seconds passed one by one, before – almost like magic– the image would slowly blossom onto the paper.

Memories from my first (and only) film photography class came flooding back as I stared at the x-ray of my lungs. There was something incredibly beautiful about it. 

Sure it said my lungs had a lot of unexplained cloudiness, scarring and other things you don’t want to have associated with your lungs, but the scan itself had this ethereal smoke-like quality. The dark background illuminated by varying shades of white and gray reminded me so much of my old film negatives. If only I could manipulate the scan like I used to alter a photo. Add a little light here, block a little light from there, and voila! My lungs would be healed.

Of course x-rays are not film negatives (and this cloudiness was not caused by a rogue fingerprint smudge or a poorly focused lens) so instead I underwent treatment after treatment. Steroids, inhalers, antibiotics, cough syrup, steam. Nothing alleviated the coughing fits– fits so violent they pulled my oblique muscles and fractured a rib. Nothing prevented me from waking up multiple nights in a panic – unable to breathe, beating my hands against my chest in a last ditch effort to loosen the mucus enough to take a breath.

Four weeks in, I was diagnosed with “a severe (and stubborn) case of atypical pneumonia.” 

Eight weeks in, my ribs were finally starting to heal but the coughing and the exhaustion wouldn’t budge. 

Around twelve weeks in, COVID-19 took hold in the U.S. and thanks to the lingering scarring, coughing, and wheezing (an annoying “musical” symptom I’d recently developed) I was labeled "high risk" and told to shelter-in-place.

In the course of one week, my entire life changed. No more runs to the grocery store, no more meetings, no more visiting friends and family. On the outside I looked like a healthy thirty-four year old, but inside my lungs rattled with each breath: a scary reminder that they were not strong enough to fight a novel respiratory disease.

And so I quarantined. 

Seconds turned into minutes, which blurred into hours, spilled over into days, grew into weeks, and piled into months. Slowly, those around me also began to quarantine and the world grew quiet and calm.

Between baking bread and taking walks, I studied x-rays online- clicking through one after another to try and understand what was occurring in my own lungs. Pages of search results overflowing with blurry black and gray rectangles- similar in look to the notebooks I once filled with film negatives. Each image captured a split second snapshot of a diagnosis, of a story, of a person.

The descriptions were short- 42-year-old female, lung cancer; 78-year-old man emphysema; 28-year-old woman, pneumonia- but I knew each one belonged to a much deeper, more complex life story. Stories that aren’t accurately captured simply by age, gender, and/or diagnosis. The understanding that each of those images held a unique story inspired me and ultimately these paintings.

With each piece (composed to elicit memories of both x-rays and film negatives) I share glimpses of my story. Recalled and told to you, the viewer, as I’d tell an old friend– the kind of friend who instinctively fills in missing details and names because it’s part of their story as well. 

Some of the stories are momentous and straightforward, others are just snippets composed of emotions and hearsay. The type of stories that jump to mind when a long forgotten song plays on the radio or a particular scent– like freshly mowed grass or the air just before it rains– catches your nose. Each painting a memory, clouded by the passage of time.

Two hundred and forty seven days after I first fell sick I finally received a clear x-ray. Although I still had some minimal healing left, I officially was no longer considered high-risk. 

I celebrated with a deep breath and a trip to the grocery store– my first in store visit in three months.

 
*I’d be remiss not to point out that while DEVELOP was born from reflection of a personal illness, the COVID-19 pandemic and the resulting quarantine, half of this series was completed as the protests sparked by George Floyd’s murder were occurring. And although these paintings were not created to make a statement about race, I cannot ignore the parallels between a man crying out that he can’t breathe and a disease that literally suffocates its victims. And that’s all said without considering that these pieces are almost entirely created using only variations of black and white.

So again, I encourage you to hear both my personal story- one centered on illness, quarantine and a love for film photography, while also recognizing what was occurring in my city and the world.

The gift of being tired

I was talking with a good friend this morning and the first thing that popped into my head after she asked how I was doing was “tired.” But it’s a good tired, you know? The tired where you pour all of yourself into something and after it’s completed you step back and are immediately filled with a sense of pride, contentment, and the feeling that only comes from a job well done.

That’s the tired I’m feeling right now and words can’t begin to describe how grateful and happy that makes me feel.

Modern Pastels Opening Night

A few photos from the Modern Pastels opening party at Balance Design in Candler Park this past May. It was an amazing night filled with even more amazing people! The show is up until November, so if you’re in Atlanta swing by and take a look.

I cannot say enough wonderful things about the women of Balance Design. They are such warm hearted, funny, and energetic people and it’s been such an honor to know (and work) with them!

Madeline

Back when I was still hand painting note cards, my best friend Caroline gifted a set of five to her Gran. i can't remember if it was for her birthday, or Mother's Day, or just because, but that detail doesn't really matter anyway. What does matter was how much Gran loved them- so much so that she treated them like fine china; putting them in a special place to only use for the most special occasions. (She only had five, so she had to make them count!) From then on, Gran knew me as "the girl who paints the notecards." When I finally got to meet Gran at Caroline's wedding, she was just as warm and spunky as I had imagined she would be. And sure enough- despite it being years since she'd received Caroline's gift- she knew exactly who I was and excitedly told me how much she loved the cards I made.

This week Gran passed away at the age of 96 and in celebration of her life I thought I would share the painting that her great granddaughter (and namesake) inspired. I'd like to think Gran would especially enjoy all of the hot pink.