Back to Dreamworld
My work has felt too predictable lately. I’ve created an imaginary chamber of restricting rules of what my art should look like. I've mistakenly jumped into a disruptive thought cycle of sales, business, bills, persona, money, stress.
And now there’s a voice shouting in my head to stop worrying and go paint what I want to paint. To channel what’s really inside me.
Since I started painting more religiously in 2020, I’ve been taking small steps toward understanding what I want to make a reality. I’m a newborn in the art world, and I know I will continue to explore new realms as I grow older and develop in my craft.
As you heard from my first newsletter (or if you know me personally 🙂), you know that I love fantasy. Fairies, elves, Terebithia, enchanted worlds… even goblins! I have fairies tattooed on my left arm; own a few pairs of fairy wings; dress up as an elf/fairy for Halloween each year; and love fantastical movies (e.g., Thumbalina, Alice in Wonderland), books, stories, clothes, and lifestyles. I even pulled my elf ears out of my purse on Jack and my first date… heh. He was smitten!
But my connection to fantasy is not just outward-facing. It forges on in my head all day. I’m daydreaming and fixated on fantasy visions. I want to continue to wonder and be curious as an adult.
Okay, I could keep going, but I think you get the gist! I am in every way connected to fantasy and feel a strong need to get closer to it through my art. While I love secret passages, elves, nymphs, and trolls—that’s not what I seek to literally represent. I want to paint my versions of what imagination and fantasy mean to me.
One representation of that is my dreamworld series, which has replenished something missing inside me: a piece of my puzzle lost when my full-time leap placed new pressure on my process.
I love the feeling this series gives me. It’s like I’m suspended in time, painting a space that’s in-between, where nothing is fixed and anything can happen. There are NO RULES in dreamworld. Anything can be true.
I first started painting dreamworlds in April 2022 but haven’t returned much since. Now, in a time of creative need, I’m reimmersing in that space with a more skilled hand.
Like I said in this caption from 2022, I’ve been transported to this land in my dreams (hence, “dreamworld”). I can remember the quiet hush rolling over the candied hills. The familiar handshake of the land as a childhood fuzz and neon vision set in. You know when you were a kid, and the world had a sparkly rainbow lens on it? The colors and the space here are infinite.
I’ve recently created three new paintings in the dreamworld series, two of which you can see for the first time in just a moment :)
I don’t like to overthink what a painting “means.” I’ve always felt embarrassed to answer that question because I won’t have a well-thought-out answer. I can, however, speak on how I felt in the studio with the figure in the painting. Most of my paintings center on a portrait or figure of a girl.
Once the eyes get painted and her likeness looks back at me, I feel less alone in my studio. Sometimes, it gets overwhelming as the eyes around the studio stare back at me. A silent standoff, as if they’re all waiting for me to blink first.
I frequently call my paintings “my girls.” I have conversations with them while painting, asking questions like “Well, do you like your eyelashes?” or “Is this what you want?” If I was an abstract painter, I don’t think I would be dealing with the same emotions. There’s a strange intimacy in it—like we’re both figuring out who she is, what she feels, where she’s going. I think I’m mainly talking to another version of myself.
Once a work is finished, the girl in the painting is cemented there forever. That’s the part that can make me feel sad. I want to know if she likes her surroundings, the way she looks, where she’s from, if she wishes to exist elsewhere. And just like that, right when I feel like I might know, she leaves the studio, and our relationship is cut short.
But it is enough to just be in dialogue with her, to have that brief moment of connection in the studio, before she leaves my side.
I enjoy being ignorant of what a painting means. I don’t think it’s my role to know, not even for myself. I’ve realized that not knowing is part of the mystical process. It’s in the not knowing that the work stays alive—I can continue to wonder and be curious about it.
"The Great Migration"
I had an idea of a land covered in moth-like creatures and knew I wanted the painting to be horizontal, which I very rarely do. So I set out to make it happen. My heart was beating rapidly while painting “The Great Migration”. My hand didn’t leave a paintbrush for seven hours on day one. I ate my chicken and rice bowl standing up while painting as I needed to keep going (I have a way of holding a fork and paintbrush simultaneously). Aurora played in the background, and I felt like lucky to be there. I don’t know where “The Great Migration” came from, but I can’t seem to let the title go. I think that’s what the girl in the painting wanted it to be. Maybe she is migrating with the moth-creatures too, but laying down briefly on the journey. I have no clue.
"The Outskirts"
One time, a bee landed on my cousin Scotty’s face while we were playing by the lake, and it stayed for what seemed like 15 minutes. I was 13, and he was about 6. He stood patiently still in meditation while the bee sat on the tip of his nose. I was so impressed. I had never seen Scotty so still. I really wanted to feel what he was feeling, but I am deathly allergic to bees and wouldn’t have had the same experience. For some reason, I think of this memory often. The girl in the painting reminds me of Scotty’s stillness.
“Portal to Dreamworld”
“Portal to Dreamworld” was the first time returning to my dreamworld in 2 years. I wanted to incorporate an archway as a threshold to enter; a portal that marks a boundary between reality and fantasy. Herons have made their way into my work for a few years, and I think they do a wonderful job as the gate’s safety birds. Sort of like how a gargoyle protects its building from erosion by spouting rainwater away, the herons can protect the dreamers as they venture in dreamworld. I still have to stretch this painting over a frame—I got so excited to paint I just pinned the canvas directly onto the wall and got going. I am still working on this painting.
Artists draw inspiration from all different sources. My dreams are so visceral that they become a major inspiration for me. I can’t understand the meaning or source of my dreams, so it makes sense if I don’t understand the meaning or source of the works (or characters) they inspire. Instead, I focus on the elements that weave through my dreams (day and night) and through my artistic process. They’re the themes I want to express most in my work: curiosity, fantasy, and imagination.
Thank you for stopping by. I am grateful that you’re here reading what I have to say. If you are interested in "The Great Migration" or "The Outskirts", they are listed on my website alongside their sizes & materials !
Feel free to reach out if you have any questions about shipping/delivery/work/anything! I’m here to talk (gerb@gerbart.com).
One last question before I leave:
| Have you gone to a similar place—awake or dreaming? |
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All my love,
Gerbie
