Finding My Lost Art
Painting ELISSA from the adjacent dock in Galveston, Texas
I’ve always been fascinated by humanity’s knack for dreaming up wild ideas and actually making them work—especially when those innovations hum along in harmony with the grand design of creation itself. But here’s the rub: I’ve struggled to figure out how to channel this awe into my art. Should I jump into the conservationist artist scene, waving the eco-warrior flag? Or maybe dive headlong into the gritty, imaginative realm of SuperPunk?
Both have their appeal, but they always felt like they were steering toward some future goal, some distant vision. That’s not quite what I’m after. My work is about the here and now—present, practical, visceral. And that’s where the maritime genre swept in, salty air and all, to anchor my ideas.
Think about it: to be a sailor, you’ve got to abandon the familiar comfort of land—the predictable, tame space we’ve bent to our will—and venture into a vast, untamed, rhythmically chaotic world. It’s a world that demands courage, adaptability, and a certain level of audacious creativity just to keep afloat. Sailing isn’t about bending nature to your will; it’s about working with it, dancing to its rhythms instead of using them to achieve a goal. There’s something thrillingly old-school about that—like cracking open a time capsule of lost arts we desperately need to rediscover.
Nature and I go way back, though. My soul has always craved wild places—messy, unpredictable, unapologetically alive. It’s no wonder I’m drawn to exploring how our bodies and spirits thrive when we live in sync with the design of creation. Growing food with your hands, eating it fresh from the earth, standing still long enough to hear the hum of the world, wandering with curiosity instead of conquest—these aren’t just quaint throwbacks. They’re lifelines. I’m thinking of Eden. They’re how we were wired to thrive, and they’re a big part of the story I’m trying to tell.
In my work, I aim to capture these ideas with vibrant strokes—something celebratory, curious, and full of life. It’s a way of saying, “Hey, look at this wild, beautiful connection we’ve almost forgotten!”
So what does all this look like on the canvas? Stay tuned, because I’ve been working on pieces that dive deep into this maritime magic. I’ll share more soon—and trust me, you won’t want to miss it. What’s the creative equivalent of setting sail? Let’s find out together.
With courage and creativity,
Ruth
