painting

Who says you can’t have Marilyn Monroe’s boobs…

Posted on

 

7162E253-EBA2-496C-902F-8C7EB67476D2

I was painting self portraits of my tattoos and I used this photo of Marilyn as a reference when I painted my boobs because the lighting was better and it was easier to see than the selfies I took for reference. Yea, that’s it…the lighting, right…

My most favorite painting professor taught me that you don’t need to paint the bits that you’re not happy with, you can leave out the double chin, the crows feet if you want to, it’s your painting; it doesn’t have to be exactly realistic.

Isn’t that artistic license?

 

Advertisements

What do you see?

Posted on

knick knack - KellyLTaylor
Knick Knack – oil on canvas

Sometimes I carefully select the objects in my paintings and arrange them to tell a specific story. Other times I simply select several items I’m drawn to for unknown reasons, arrange them in a way that looks pleasing to me, and then paint what I see. And then wonder what it means.

This is a recent painting of mine. It’s of three random items that just seemed to go together. An arrangement I stuck on my wall without much conscious thought.

It consists of a small knick-knack, a jewelry holder that would have sat on a woman’s bureau to maybe hold her rings or a necklace when she took them off at night — a trinket to hold trinkets. An old skeleton key on a red ribbon and some dried flowers hang behind it.

What does it mean? Does it hint at the impermanence of life, the delicateness of all things? Do you see the possibility of the plaster of the wall crumbling away, the nail slipping, and it all falling to the floor and crashing into pieces? Or does the light just look warm and make you feel good, like sunshine on a spring day?

Perhaps the items were hung on the wall long ago – a key to a lover’s cabin in the woods tied to a ribbon red like the blood that rushes to flush her cheeks when you kiss her, some flowers she tucked behind her ear one day on a walk through the field…

…Items stuck on the wall to collect dust for years until a great grand-daughter cleaned out the house for the estate sale. Maybe there’s a black widow spider hiding behind the ribbon ready to bite in defense when disturbed. Maybe…

 

I don’t know, maybe it’s just some crap I bought at a yard sale (but I doubt it.)

You can’t take it with you

Posted on Updated on

You cant take it with you - KellyLTaylor

It doesn’t really ever stop. It doesn’t go away. The hurt. The empty space.

And you never stop being a widow.

Even if after only a year you think you’re stuck (and wonder about the possibility that you may be holding him back from somewhere he’s supposed to move on to) and you push yourself to let go of some things and move forward. Even if you allow yourself to be manipulated by someone who says your grief is unhealthy and calls you “Courtney Love” and says you weren’t really a widow because you weren’t legally married in an attempt to dismantle your very identity and discount your experiences but at the same time convinces you he loves you and wants to be with you (despite his wife’s objections!) Even if you don’t talk about it, trying to avoid triggering this narcissistic new boyfriend who’s jealous of the dead guy. It’s all still there.

Even when three years goes by after you’ve eliminated the narcissist who tried his best to replace the dearest sweetest most brilliant person in the world and left you even more scarred and scared but in different ways, it’s still there. But now you’re free to express yourself without censorship.

Even when five years goes by, the shock of finding the dearest sweetest most brilliant person in the world hanging from a carefully constructed rope never leaves. It washes over you still sometimes in a giant wave that disrupts the current moment, makes you drop what you’re doing and work to wrap your head around it once again. The images don’t erase themselves. And you don’t want them to. In that image there is also incredible peace on his face. He was calm, his body relaxed. He stopped the hurt.

And you never stop being a widow.

 

This guy’s got bells!

Posted on Updated on

 

Why am I such a misfit?

Too timid for the cool kids; too weird for the mainstream. Wondering where my work truely fits in.

Perhaps I don’t let myself say what is fighting to come out, programmed to censor myself, preoccupied with what others will think and say, struggling against some expected confines of what a woman my age should be (whatever the fuck that is) that I absorbed along the way. Worried about embarrassing my sons with my subject matter (But they’ve told me they don’t care if I paint dolls with vaginas!)

Scarred and scared from the manipulation and betrayal of a most recent relationship (But I kicked his ass out! I was triumphant! But the damage remains.) Semi-paralyzed with anxiety, doubt, insecurity…   Fuck that! I’ve got “bells” too! I’m gonna put on my happy clown face and paint them!

The shirt, in process

Posted on

The shirt. His shirt. The shirt he wore the first time I laid eyes on him. The time I fell madly in love with him, when I felt as if I’d found something I’d been looking for all my life. When I stopped looking and it walked in the door of the gallery with a big warm smile, carrying a newly finished sculpture. I think I stopped breathing

 

The shirt in process-KellyLTaylor

 

Vote for my self portrait…

Posted on Updated on

Jerry’s 5th Annual Self Portrait Contest is here!

Click here to vote for mine!

selfportrait-clown-kellyltaylor

I love Jerry’s Artarama. I buy all my supplies from them…online or when I feel like a roadtrip to Raleigh. They have a fantastic selection and great prices.

the jacket

Posted on Updated on

He was beautiful and brilliant and funny. That jacket still feels like him. Even though it’s gone through the wash. I can’t wear it. It feels too heavy.

 

jacket-kellyltaylor
Jacket, oil on canvas, life-sized