What does it mean to be a painter anymore? To do it for a living, or to do it for inspiration, an outlet or method of form. Perhaps lust and passion should be taken into consideration, too.
I biked over to 16th street to visit my friend Shannon Kelley that has been anxious to catch up over the latest and talk serious art. Her canvases were starting to pile up against the furniture and move into the front hallway walls. She has been producing a lot of new art, with mixed mediums and mixed feelings. Her approach is first minimalistic and visceral in instinct, then the after taste has left you full of tempt and room for more. Soothing Rothko-esque wide paint slabs in mellow shades like a black mars blue, collaged with Kate Moss Playboy tears. She was looking through a recent zine and considering including a St. Jude clipping to situate among the Moss tears. We sipped a savory cab and pondered the new addition, before deciding strongly against it.
Shannon has been painting and mixing collage with needle work in some cases, exclusively since September and hopes to show in the new year but is still developing her narrative of canvases. She also mentioned she is sorting out space options, but open to talking.
I’ve known Shannon for over 15 years, and she is artistic in nature, growing up as a dancer most of her child life. Women tend to be the thread of inspiration in her life, as a painter, photographer and then dancer. Her hand and eye follow the curve, like every legendary master has.