Nine Heartbreakingly Beautiful Things...

When I was in art school, the word "beautiful" was a dirty word.  It was kind of like calling something, "icing".  It was even worse to call something "pretty" or "cute".  That is unless it could be quantifiable, theorized, provoked the viewer, and/or have its plasticity "pushed" and "pulled".  Perhaps that's why I never really fit into art school.  I never felt at ease in an environment hungry for proverbial steak and potatoes, where calling something "ugly" was giving it high marks.  Sure, I made good grades and I got all the concepts, working hard and diligently to absorb as much as possible.  But at my very core, "beautiful" wasn't a dirty word.

Since I've left art school, I've been in a slow process of deprogramming myself and really defining what looking at art and the world means to me.  I've had to ask myself why "beautiful" was never a criticism, but one of the highest praises.  Countless factors could go into what makes something "beautiful".  One idea that I've rolled around in my head is that it has to break your heart a little.  If there's a tiny pang of hurt or a flutter of feeling, then the work did its job – the work is beautiful.

Below is a short list of nine pieces of art that have broken my heart a little (in a good way):

Anne Choi is by far one of my favorite beadmakers.  Her pieces are little works of art that are imbued with a sense of poetry, grace, and bittersweet memories.  This dancing stag beetle bead in sterling silver captures an Antonín Dvorák quote that reads, "Silver moon upon the deep dark sky this sleeping world you wander by."

I first met Jennifer Sarkilahti in a Summer Residency program at the School of Visual Arts.  At that time, Odette NY (her successful jewelry company) was only a glimmer in her eye.  Swallowed up in the gestural nebulas she created with paint and tape, I remember getting completely lost in her ethereal paintings. 

  

College is one of my favorite mediums.  The idea of taking two or more things of different origins and combining them into a cohesive hybrid is fascinating to me.  I think that's why I'm drawn to the work of Nicole McConville.  She pulls together forgotten and rusty things and transforms them into works of art that peel back the skin of nostalgia and digs around for visceral, golden moments lost in time.  Her pieces seem to "remember".

Often times whimsical and fantastical, Jen Tong's work finds a cornerstone in longing – whether longing to belong, to believe, or to have companionship, her work examines the space between.  Using subtle dark humor, sensuality, and a high degree of sensitivity, she explores the realms of "the divide".

To look at Monica Cook's work is to quite literally know her.  For years, she has worked with self-portraiture.  She mixes tight technical skill with loose amorphous dreamscapes, to investigate what it means to be human, a vessel of histories and stories.

Iviva Olenick, a Brooklyn-based artist, uses textiles and fabrics to tell stories.  In her series, Were I So Besotted, she delves into the world of modern dating.  Sometimes funny, sometimes melancholy, she captures a very relatable state of searching for connection.

Japanese Pop Art has helped influence Chicago-based artist, Jeremiah Ketner of Small and Round, to create a dreamy, pastel world bounding with cute creatures and sensual nymphs.  I've known Jeremiah for years and have taken great pleasure watching him use many layers of paint and pattern to explore this vibrant and happy imagined-landscape.

Having a collage sensibility, Amy Wilson's work weaves together vast quantities of text with her drawings and watercolors.  She pulls the words from fundamentalist political views, journal entries and art criticism, to help illustrate and expound upon her "industrious little girls".  She uses the little girls, as a symbol for herself, to explore the outside world with the internal.

Using mixed media, Nina Bagley creates narrative jewelry.  Her pieces made of fabric, semi-precious stones, silver chain, and found objects are the result of bridging the ephemeral and fleeting with a concrete present.  Nina masterfully crafts work that functions as touchstones that embody the act of cherishing every moment – capturing stories in the wind and words from the heart.  Each piece is a poem.