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The first part of our recent conversation pivoted around you deciding to show your work at Open Studios for the very first time, at a friend’s studio. Can you describe the fork in the road that was for you? 

I have such respect for artists — for their courage, vulnerability, and not to mention their skills — and yet I never felt that I could use that title for myself. At Open Studios, I remember people would come in and ask, “are you the artist?” And I’d find myself hesitating, but finally eased into saying yes. [laughing] 

It was a big moment.

And then to have those visitors, many of them artist friends in Westville, be shocked with seeing my art work, saying, “I never knew you were an artist!” I downplayed it, thinking, well, it’s not that big of a deal. But that acceptance by other artists was a big deal. 

So, maybe that’s one distinction that moment offered for me, finding the courage to open up and share my art work with others.

You described that after Open Studios, you set up your own booth at Westville Artwalk. Did that feel similarly profound? 

Definitely. It was that same experience, people had the reaction, “oh my gosh, I didn’t know you did this!” It’s sharing a different side of who people have known me to be.  

Is it easier for you to own the identity of artist now?

Part of me thinks I have always been an artist and it’s about damn time to claim that. In elementary school, I still vividly remember my art teachers — Mr. Zubel, Ms. Jackson. I remember how I felt in their classes, and the sights, smells, and textures of the art room. 

With friends, we’ve gotten into — not a debate, but an exploration of the distinction of what’s craft and what’s art. 

I’ve asked myself, is what I do craft or art? I feel like there’s been somewhat of a resurgence of craft in general; but is that art? What’s the difference? Is it the sophistication of the equipment, the genre, or the selling price? What is it that makes one item ‘craft’ and another ‘art?’ Does it matter? 

And then there’s an aliveness in me that says, I do this because I enjoy it, not for a term or label, and so I tell myself to stfu [laughing] — just do art, end of story, period. 

I have similar conversations at the end of every concert — someone will walk up and say, I play guitar, or I sing, but I’m not a Musician. I think it’s the culture of capitalism that only validates artistry if the art is making a certain amount of money.

That’s it, right? It’s that acceptance. That personal acceptance. Despite the cultural debates with capitalism or what society says is and isn’t art, or who can and can’t be an artist. 

It sounds like your heart has been very clear about being an artist, even if your brain is taking a minute to catch up. 

That’s a fascinating observation, yes. The heart knows, the brain lags. In the moment I made the decision to take that first natural dye class up in New Hampshire, I was — thankfully — listening with heart and not letting my mind get in the way. 

I’m compelled by the way many of us know who we are when we’re children; the world interferes, and then if we’re lucky we spend our adult lives re-becoming who we are. When I was young, I knew I was a musician — and I let it go until decades later. Would you like to say more about your original knowing that you are an artist?

It’s so interesting, I appreciate that frame of reflecting on the second grade me with my art teachers Mr. Zubel and Ms. Jackson. It makes me see the link between those formative artist-making years to jobs where I designed what I now know was ‘art’ even though my title had nothing to do with being an artist.

I think about being a health educator and designing table slips to educate and convey messages to college students about health education. Or designing materials, posters, manuals, and workshops to train staff in different countries and languages. I think about my friend & mentor asking the ‘why not?’ question, bucking the conventional ways of doing things. 

Even now, I think about how I design and facilitate community gatherings at United Way. The thread of being an artist runs deep, and I appreciate the re-introduction to my second grade artist self — who’s been there all along.

Your love of color seemed so clear in our last conversation. Can you say more about your relationship to color? 

I remember a nine month period when I had to live in a hotel because of water damage in my condo and its subsequent renovation. And so wherever I’d go, I would look for postcards — of art, graphic designs, destinations, random samples that caught my eye, and I’d collect them to decorate the walls of my hotel room with different textures and colors. 

Two artists that graced my hotel walls were Josef Albers and Mark Rothko. Both artists played with the relationship between colors. Bright squares of complementary or contrast colors — a yellow on top of a green, or an orange next to a purple — and the magic of how different colors can look completely different depending on who from the color wheel they’re sitting next to! 

My friend and artist Fritz Horstman just happens to be the Education Director at the Josef & Anni Albers Foundation, which is just up the road in Bethany. He teaches about Josef Albers’ color theory all over the world, and I lucked out to take one of his workshops at Creative Arts Workshop about two years ago. It was mind blowing, the science of how our eyes see color and how to playfully explore that. 

Even now, I have postcards of color experiments from that class up on my walls, to inspire new ways of seeing color.  

I remember years ago, the Yale Art Gallery had two of Rothko’s paintings hung side by side; I could have stared at them all day. At some point, one of them was removed, and the remaining one feels utterly different to me.

That’s it, that feeling — how is it possible that colors make us feel these ways, and that one particular combination of colors — or artworks — make us feel one way versus another way? 

I think about it in the ways I decorate my living space or even in the way I dress. A lot of people are afraid of color in what they wear. No white after Labor Day, those kinds of rules we were taught. Says who? You can’t wear purple and yellow together. Why not? 

So, maybe that’s another quality of being an artist — being willing to go against the ‘rules.’

Has diving deeper into work with natural dyes and fabric changed how you see the world outside the studio or maker-space? 

Yes, it’s created a new way of looking at everyday things. Now I might see the bright red bridge rails at Edgewood Park, or the ceiling light fixture in Fussy Coffee, or the bathroom tiles at a restaurant as possible new design patterns for bandanas. I take photos of what I see, so that I can bring these ideas back and spark the shapes into something to play with my natural dye paints or shibori resist patterns. Art is everywhere!    

I do see now that I’m an artist. Some of the ways it shows up for me? Seeing things in new ways, going against the rules, doing art for art’s sake, listening to heart over mind, and having the courage to share it with the world, regardless of its cultural value.

Conversation with The Circle’s Creative Director & Editor, Lara Herscovitch (Cohort 10). To reach Lara directly: thecircle@clpnewhaven.org or Lara@LaraHerscovitch.com

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