Expressionism fits me…i don’t deal with Realism. it has to be fantastic. i love color and i like Expressionism. and Fauvism. i feel comfortable with distorting reality. it’s about me and my world. i hope they see the art above what i’m saying, the color or skill. it’s original in that it comes from me. but there’s always this derivative business. i don’t like comparisons, but if you’re going to compare, better Gauguin than some schmuck. it’s stupid when you have to justify art by writing smart. my brushwork is furiously fast. i’m intuitive, really. i just go. i don’t question what to do, i just do it. if a piece takes too long, it won’t happen. i felt i had a right to be an Expressionist though i was a young girl. like the war was my story too. when you’re young, you are dramatic, but i never lost it. the images come to me as i paint. i’m dyslexic—no right, no left—i have trouble knowing where the fingers and feet go. but i leave them, it’s more peculiar. it has to be spontaneous. if i take long, it won’t turn out. and i break rules. there is a little rebellion in me. inspiration is something marvelous. where does it come from? that’s why i rely on dreams. it’s a trip when you’re on it. you’re burning to get it out. i’ve seen soldiers dead in the ditch. and when you’re in an air-raid shelter and some pray and some scream, and you get out and it’s rubble and ash…freedom is a wonderful thing. of course [the work] has meaning in it. but if you dwell on it, you don’t develop.
and now some words from the writer: escapism, tenderness, wildness, expressive, earthy, primitive, timeless. yes. oh yes.
clockwise from top left: “desert dream,” “blue moon,” “los incas,” “angelicus.”
all photos this spread: matthew furman