Releasing past futures

On the bus to New York, facing backward

How did I get this life? Did I choose it? photo by Lauren Slusher.

Showing in New York was a sudden, synchronistic thing. I’d met the curator in May; they listed the open call in July, and weeks later I was shipping my work. And with family vacation in the Berkshires & Maine, I could make the opening!

The morning after arriving at our Airbnb in the Berkshires at 3 am, I was waiting at the train station in Wassaic to take a bus to a train to Grand Central. I sat next to a woman with gray Patti Smith braids, eating pretzels. She immediately struck up a conversation, and since I was headed to New York for my opening, art came up. “Oh, I’m an ex-artist”, she said.

Marilyn Lenkowsky was in the 1975 Whitney Biennial. She showed at Paula Cooper with Elizabeth Murray.

She’s in this photo with Mary Heilmann, Susan Rothenberg, Blinky Palermo, Pat Steir, etc. A line-up of people I would die to meet.

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Marilyn explained how she was an artist in New York in her thirties, starting to get traction and acclaim, along with others in this group of new painters. But, she complained, all anyone talked about was art. There was no life beyond art. She saw the expectations ahead of her, and didn’t want to do it anymore.

She became a midwife, after having one assist in the birth of her child, but stopped because the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s made it unsafe to practice. She had a child of her own to protect. So she became a psychiatric nurse, and stayed in that profession until retiring seven years ago. Does she make artwork now? No. Neither does her husband, also an ex-artist. They meditate and he’s a carpenter. Their son is an artist, against their advising.

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Marilyn told me this story and more as we bumbled along the road through the woods. She had briefly taught at Brown, but my painting teacher, Wendy Edwards, was hired full-time instead of her. As she spoke, I heard both her personal story and a whisper of something meant just for me. “You made the right choice.”

When I relayed this story to Diego later, he rolled his eyes at the idea that I would ever be an “ex-artist”. I can’t imagine it, either. But lately as I near the middle of my forties, I will think of something I always thought I’d do, and realize that I won’t. That the moment has passed me by, life is different now, too encumbered and intrenched, for that kind of change.

Sometimes I’ll look back and frame the past as, “If I’d only been brave enough…” more committed, more confident––

When I do this, I negate the choices I did make, over and over, for my art. I chose not to throw myself into a situation that would be too discouraging or overwhelming or expensive to the artist I was cultivating. I knew I couldn’t work a full-time job and make art at night. I thought if I worked in a gallery or museum, I would cloud out my own voice. I moved home from Paris because it was all very romantic, but expensive and required lots of energy every day.

I needed to move at my own pace. And I needed to feel safe and supported, to go out on a limb inside my heart. I did what felt manageable, nourishing, and economically feasible.

Paintings in my studio, Spring, 2024.

Even as I write this, I hear myself defending against a bigger, braver existence. My internal critics and skeptics are loud and raucous. I could have done any number of things differently. I could have found the current that lead me to earlier, bigger success. I could have been braver.

As Marilyn told me about her son’s artwork, I was revisiting that past self, whom I often disarm of her decisive faculties and think just trudged forward on the most obvious path. I reclaimed the choices I made. I felt gratitude for the life I have because of them.

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When I was in New York in May, building up my contacts in hope that one day I will have a gallery to represent me there and abroad, I spoke with an old friend, Isaac Lyles. He owns the gallery Lyles & King, whose programming and roster of painters I greatly admire.

We were chatting under a monumental iron sculpture shoe-horned into the interior courtyard of his Chinatown gallery. We were friends when he was in Austin after college, meeting up at Spider House and talking about bands and literature. He lives in Queens now, with his wife and kids, and commutes an hour each day to the gallery. He pointed out the upsides of the life I’ve chosen, away from the center. He inquired about the vibrancy of the art community here.

Austin is becoming its own center, something I try not to take for granted. We have a spirited community of artists and enthusiasts, and 20+ cranes in the sky at any time, bringing more spaces for art. My friendships with artists have endured the years, not competitive, but collaborative and hopeful.

Keli Hogsett, art advisor & founder of CoCollect, discussing art collecting with Kevin Ivester & Jill McLennon.

Last week, Keli Hogsett from CoCollect, spoke to a group at SoHo house about art collecting. I learned from gallerists Kevin Ivester & Jill McLennon that there is a consortium of some of the best local galleries, organizing and strengthening each other and our creative scene.

There is no one way to do life. I won’t draw any other conclusions; you can draw your own. But I’m grateful to Marilyn Lenkowsky for sharing her story with me.

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The Roses, acrylic, enamel and flashe on paper. Framed in gold. 52x36” painting; 56x40” frame.

I will have “The Roses” for sale as part of the Nobelity fundraiser taking place this Saturday at Paggi House at the Loren. Proceeds will build a preschool for the Oloile community in Amboselli, Kenya. I’m honored to be showing alongside Julie Speed, Terry Allen, Dan Winters and Evan Voyles. It’s sold out, but if you’re interested in purchasing this piece, I’ll put your bid in the hat!

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I know we all have our, “If only I’d…” stories. I’d love to hear yours.

With artists Claudia Cortinez, Andrew Hockenberry, and curator Hayley Ferber at Lichtundfire’s Perfect/Imperfect opening, New York.

Reading to the chickens on an island in Maine.