 Mahsa Amini (2023) by Sandi Goodwin Why Women Artists Matter, Especially in Marginalized Societies
Women artists hold a profound significance in marginalized societies where their rights are persistently under attack. In these environments, where freedom of expression is stifled and gender equality remains a distant ideal, women’s art becomes a radical act of resistance. Through their work, women artists challenge oppressive norms, expose injustice, and give voice to the silenced. Art, in this context, is not merely a form of expression but a lifeline—a way to document lived experiences, resist erasure, and demand change. Women’s art often intertwines the personal with the political, capturing the complexities of identity, freedom, and survival. In societies where women's voices are systematically suppressed, their art serves as an alternative record of history and culture—one that refuses to be erased. It reclaims narratives, portrays resilience, and insists on the validity of women's perspectives. The act of creating itself becomes a declaration of existence, a refusal to be invisibilized. In this way, women artists in marginalized societies transform art into a weapon against patriarchy and an archive of resistance. Solidarity Across Borders: How Women Artists in Freer Societies Can Support Others Women artists in societies that enjoy relative freedoms have a unique role to play in supporting their sisters in more oppressive contexts. Their freedom to create and communicate without severe repercussions positions them as powerful allies. This support can manifest in several ways:
The Power of Women’s Art as a Message of Strength and Defiance Women’s art is a potent force for change. It embodies defiance against systems that seek to silence and oppress. When women portray their realities—whether through painting, performance, or installations—they declare their existence and resilience. Art has the power to transcend borders, languages, and cultural barriers, making women’s struggles visible to the world. Moreover, women’s art often carries a deeply symbolic language that resonates universally. From reinterpreting ancient myths to exposing the raw pain of contemporary injustices, women artists weave personal and collective memories into powerful critiques of patriarchy and oppression. In doing so, they not only challenge the status quo but also offer visions of alternative futures—ones where women’s voices are not just heard but lead the way. In essence, women artists matter because they refuse to be silenced. Their art is both a mirror and a beacon, reflecting the harsh realities of oppression while lighting a path towards equality and justice. By standing together across borders, women artists can amplify this message of strength, defiance, and hope—insisting that no woman, no matter where she lives, stands alone.
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 March is Women´s Month!
In Beirut this is being celebrated with an exhibition (07-28 March) at the Museum of Lebanese Prehistory at USJ, Monot of the work of some multitalented Lebanese artists, curated by BeyArt. Supporting Women Artists Supporting women artists is not just about achieving gender parity in the art world—it is about recognizing and amplifying voices that have been historically silenced or marginalized. Art has a unique power to reshape narratives, challenge societal norms, and inspire change. When we support women artists, we invest in a more inclusive cultural landscape that reflects the full spectrum of human experience. Celebrating Women’s Month Women’s Month offers a dedicated time to highlight the achievements and struggles of women throughout history and today. It is an opportunity to focus on the contributions of women artists who have navigated structural biases and limited access to resources and platforms. Showcasing their work during this time is a powerful reminder that women’s perspectives are indispensable to understanding and interpreting the world around us. Their art often addresses themes of identity, resilience, and transformation—narratives that resonate with broader struggles for equality and justice. The Importance in Lebanon In Lebanon, supporting women artists carries an additional layer of significance. Lebanese women artists continuously challenge societal expectations and cultural constraints through their art, using it as a medium for both personal expression and political critique. Their work often delves into themes of feminism, displacement, identity, and resistance—reflecting the complexities of a country marked by conflict, migration, and a profound sense of belonging and exile. Now, more than ever, their voices need to be heard, to reflect the renaissance of a country emerging from the ruins of another war. By highlighting their work, we not only empower individual artists but also contribute to a broader dialogue about freedom of expression and social justice in Lebanon. The art on display in this exhibition by multitalented Lebanese women serves as a powerful form of storytelling, preserving collective memory and shedding light on overlooked or suppressed narratives. Supporting these artists means ensuring that Lebanon’s cultural narrative is multifaceted and authentically representative of all experiences. Creating Space for Future Voices By investing in Lebanese women artists, we lay the groundwork for future generations. This support translates into funding, exhibitions, residencies, and networks that enable women artists to thrive. In turn, these artists serve as role models, showing young women that their voices matter and their perspectives are valuable. Supporting Lebanese women artists—especially during Women’s Month—is a powerful act of solidarity and a commitment to a richer, more inclusive cultural future for Lebanon. The Space Between
There exists a space between what is real and what is imagined, a liminal ground where the personal and the collective intertwine. It is neither one nor the other, but something woven from both—a shifting terrain of memory, dream, and experience. Here, what we perceive as truth dissolves into myth, and what we dismiss as fiction leaves an imprint on our reality. This is the space of interwoven realities, where the self is never solitary. We move through it carrying echoes of stories told before us, narratives absorbed through time, fragments of past lives that shape our own. Our private thoughts are never entirely ours; they are stitched together from the remnants of culture, history, and whispered voices. In this space, what we call identity is porous. The boundaries between self and other, then and now, fact and fiction blur, revealing a deeper truth: we are always more than one. Reality itself is a weave of overlapping threads, a tapestry that belongs to no single hand. In Interwoven Realities, De Souza Gallery´s new online exhibition on Artsy, six contemporary artists—Greg Bryce, Sandi Goodwin, Elizabeth Hefty-Khoury, Aubrey Ramage-Lay, Tina McCallan, and Juan Petry—bring together diverse perspectives through layered approaches to abstraction, symbolism, and storytelling. This online-exclusive exhibition explores the fluid boundaries between the real and the imagined, personal and collective, chaos and order. Greg Bryce’s bold compositions blur the lines between abstraction and representation, evoking a visceral sensory experience. Sandi Goodwin’s gestural and textured works reveal a delicate tension between control and spontaneity. Elizabeth Hefty-Khoury weaves myth and cultural memory through painting and drawing, reinterpreting ancient symbols for a contemporary audience. Aubrey Ramage-Lay merges figuration with abstraction, using recurring symbols like birds and snakes to explore transformation and interconnected realities. Tina McCallan’s playful, irreverent abstractions subvert traditional form and color, bringing energy and unexpected connections into her practice. Juan Petry’s conceptual works, deeply influenced by social sculpture, offer a philosophical lens on community and the role of the artist in society. Together, these artists invite viewers to navigate multiple layers of meaning—revealing the hidden and the unspoken, offering glimpses into shared experiences and unseen worlds. The Near Eastern figure of Baubo and the Sheela na Gig of the British Isles and Western Europe share striking similarities in their iconography and possible functions. Both are often depicted as grotesque, exaggerated female figures emphasizing the vulva, and both are linked to themes of fertility, protection, and the subversive power of sexuality. Baubo: The Laughing Goddess of Obscenity and Healing Baubo appears in Greek mythology, particularly in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, where she is a bawdy, grotesque, and humorous figure who exposes her genitals to the grieving goddess Demeter, causing her to laugh. This act restores Demeter’s spirit, ultimately allowing her to resume her search for her daughter Persephone. Some scholars believe that Baubo has roots in earlier Near Eastern goddesses associated with fertility and sexuality, such as Inanna-Ishtar or Anat, who were also linked to themes of death, renewal, and the life cycle. Baubo’s role suggests that sexuality, rather than being solely reproductive, held ritualistic and transformative power. Her explicit humor and bodily display appear to be tied to ancient rites of catharsis, protection, and renewal—functions that overlap with the later Sheela na Gig figures of Europe. Sheela na Gig: The Apotropaic Vulva Display Sheela na Gigs are medieval stone carvings found in Ireland, Britain, France, and Spain, featuring female figures holding open exaggerated vulvas. Their origins are debated, but their placement on churches, castles, and other structures suggests an apotropaic (protective) function, possibly to ward off evil, much like grotesques or gargoyles. Theories about Sheela na Gigs range from Christian moral warnings against lust to survivals of pre-Christian goddess worship. Some interpretations align them with fertility figures akin to Baubo or prehistoric mother goddess statues. Others view them as remnants of older beliefs in the magical power of female sexuality, reflecting traditions where the act of exposing the vulva—akin to the ancient Greek ritual of anasyrma—was thought to drive away malevolent forces. Connections and Theoretical Links The correlation between Baubo and the Sheela na Gig suggests a broader, possibly ancient Indo-European or even older Neolithic tradition in which exaggerated representations of female sexuality were not just fertility symbols but also had protective and liminal functions. The act of exposing the vulva, whether in art or ritual, appears across multiple cultures as a form of power—one that could restore balance, dispel negativity, and affirm life.
While there is no definitive proof that the Sheela na Gig directly descends from Baubo, their similarities hint at a continuity of belief systems where female sexuality and humor played key roles in sacred traditions. These figures challenge later moralistic interpretations of the body, revealing a more complex understanding of sexuality in early religious and spiritual contexts. They may represent echoes of a pre-Christian worldview where the vulva was not a source of shame but a symbol of life’s resilience and the mysteries of the divine.  Semana Santa, Sevilla, Spain. source: Shutterstock Throughout history, human societies have relied on traditions to structure their existence, providing a sense of identity, continuity, and belonging. Traditions arise from practical necessities, cultural expressions, or social customs, but over time, they often transform into sacred beliefs. What begins as a simple, everyday practice may evolve into an unquestionable religious tenet, shaping societal values and restricting creative freedom. This transformation—from tradition to religion—creates a self-perpetuating cycle that can be particularly oppressive to artists, who thrive on breaking boundaries and challenging norms. The Evolution from the Profane to the Sacred Many religious beliefs originate from habits and traditions that were initially secular in nature. One clear example is dietary restrictions in various faiths. Kosher and halal laws, for instance, stem from ancient hygienic and environmental concerns—meat spoils quickly in warm climates, and certain animals carried higher risks of disease. Over time, these pragmatic customs solidified into religious commandments, upheld not for their original utility but as divine decrees. Another example is the tradition of head coverings. In many cultures, covering one's head was initially a mark of modesty or social status. Over time, it became embedded in religious doctrine, such as in Christianity (nuns' habits), Islam (hijabs and turbans), and Judaism (kippahs). What was once a cultural signifier became a religious imperative, enforced with strict moral consequences. Similarly, ancestor worship in many Asian and African societies began as a means of honoring lineage and preserving family unity. Over generations, it evolved into structured rituals and even deification of ancestors, becoming an essential component of religious observance. The original intention—to respect one's forebears—became a rigid framework dictating how families must engage with their past. How Traditions Ensnare Society in a Vicious Cycle The transformation of tradition into religion often leads to stagnation, as customs become immutable laws rather than evolving with societal needs. This rigidity creates a cycle where questioning or deviating from tradition is seen as blasphemous, even when the original context has long disappeared. For example, arranged marriages were once a practical solution for maintaining family alliances and economic stability. Over centuries, they became deeply entrenched in religious customs, with some societies equating marriage arrangements with divine will. Even in modern contexts where individuals seek autonomy in choosing partners, the weight of tradition remains overwhelming, discouraging change and progress. The caste system in India provides another stark example. Initially a means of occupational categorization, it evolved into an immutable religious and social hierarchy that restricted personal freedom, mobility, and expression. Despite social reform efforts, the religious framing of caste makes it difficult to dismantle completely, perpetuating inequality. The Artistic Struggle: Breaking Free from Tradition For artists, traditions can be both a source of inspiration and an insidious trap. While many artists draw from cultural heritage, they often find themselves at odds with society when they challenge sacred norms. Throughout history, artists who have dared to reinterpret religious or traditional symbols have faced censorship, persecution, or exile. Consider the case of Caravaggio, whose dramatic, hyper-realistic religious paintings challenged the idealized forms preferred by the Church. His use of common people as models for biblical figures was seen as profane, despite its artistic brilliance. Similarly, modern artists like Ai Weiwei in China have faced political and religious backlash for their critical engagement with tradition. Women artists, in particular, struggle against traditions that confine them to rigid roles. In societies where traditional gender norms are reinforced by religious doctrine, female artists who depict themes of sexuality, power, or autonomy often face intense scrutiny. The mere act of creating art can be seen as rebellion, as witnessed in the censorship of women’s literature, paintings, and performances throughout history. Breaking the Cycle If traditions become rigid religious beliefs, how can society—and particularly artists—break free? The answer lies in constant questioning and reinterpretation. Traditions should be living entities, open to adaptation rather than static dictates. Just as folklore evolves with each retelling, so too should our relationship with inherited customs. Artists play a crucial role in this process. By reimagining traditions, they highlight their contradictions, expose their outdated elements, and offer alternative perspectives. This requires courage, as breaking sacred customs often invites backlash. Yet, history has shown that artistic rebellion can lead to cultural transformation. One example is the Harlem Renaissance, where African American artists reclaimed and redefined their cultural and religious heritage through literature, music, and visual arts. By taking ownership of their narrative, they challenged stereotypes rooted in both social tradition and religious dogma. Similarly, feminist artists in the 20th and 21st centuries have used their work to critique patriarchal traditions that have been enshrined in religious doctrine. The evolution from tradition to religion is a powerful force that shapes society, often in ways that limit progress and creative expression. What begins as simple, secular practice can become a binding rule, enforced with the weight of divine authority. While traditions provide cultural continuity, they also risk trapping individuals, especially artists, within a cycle of dogma and suppression. The challenge lies in maintaining a balance: respecting cultural heritage while allowing room for growth, interpretation, and change. Artists, philosophers, and free thinkers must continue to push boundaries, questioning the validity of inherited customs. Only by doing so can society escape the vicious cycle of tradition and embrace a more dynamic, evolving cultural landscape.  Let’s talk about something that’s been bothering me since I realized crayons came with “instructions.” Ever notice how, from kindergarten, we’re taught to color inside the lines, raise our hands before speaking, and say “please” even when asking for something like broccoli? It’s all part of a grand conspiracy - yes, I said conspiracy! - to turn us into responsible, rule-abiding adults. But somewhere between the ABCs and filing taxes, one question looms large: are we just mastering the past, or are we preparing to make a future worth living in? And if you’re an artist, that question comes with bonus existential dread. Conformity: The Artist’s Frenemy Education is great—don’t get me wrong. (Stay in school, kids!) It teaches us what humans have figured out so far: gravity is a thing, pyramids are pointy, and Vincent van Gogh really needed a hug. But here’s the kicker: the same system that teaches us about innovation often penalizes us for trying to innovate ourselves. “No, Timmy, the sky is not purple! That’s incorrect.” Poor Timmy—he could’ve been the next Kandinsky. The problem is conformity gets a bad rap. It’s like kale: nobody likes it, but we all admit it’s necessary (or is it?) Rules provide structure; they keep society from descending into a Mad Max sequel. Even artists, those supposed renegades, rely on frameworks. Beethoven didn’t reinvent music without knowing the rules of harmony first. (Also, fun fact: he probably would’ve been great at flipping Monopoly tables during family game night.) But let’s be honest—conformity’s BFF is boredom. Innovation: The Ultimate Rule Breaker Enter innovation, stage left, wearing mismatched socks and a hat made of recycled yogurt lids. Innovation doesn’t care about your rules. It’s the kid in the back of the classroom drawing dinosaurs on their math homework. Artists, more than anyone, live in that space. We stare at the rules, squint hard, and ask, “What if?” What if a urinal is art? (Thanks, Duchamp.) What if soup cans are iconic? (Hi, Warhol.) What if I just paint a single black square and call it revolutionary? (Malevich waves smugly from 1915.) Art thrives in that tension between conformity and innovation. If conformity is the steady drumbeat, innovation is the wild saxophone solo that makes everyone wonder if the musician has gone rogue—or found genius. Free Will vs. Rules Set in Stone Ah, free will. The thing every artist swears they have—until the rent is due. The struggle between freedom and restriction is eternal. Think of it like a dance-off between two equally awkward but determined contestants. On one side, you’ve got free will, flailing and improvising wildly, shouting, “I do what I want!” On the other, rules, stoic and unyielding, respond with, “But if you don’t follow me, it’s chaos.” Here’s the twist: they’re both right. Rules can feel suffocating, but they give you something to push against. Without gravity, astronauts don’t float in style—they just float. The same is true for artists. Rules provide a framework; free will provides the fire to set that framework ablaze. It’s a love-hate relationship, like peanut butter and jelly. (Or peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, for you weirdos out there.) The Artist as a Time Traveler So, where does this leave us artists? Are we historians, chronicling the past? Are we inventors, imagining the future? Or are we just time travelers who forgot to read the manual? Artists, whether we like it or not, are the bridge between what was and what could be. We take the lessons of the past, slap a fresh coat of paint on them, and shove them into the future, shouting, “Here, deal with this!” We are both conformists and rebels, rule-followers and trailblazers. Think about it: Michelangelo didn’t paint the Sistine Chapel because he was free—he was literally told to do it. Yet he snuck in some rebellious anatomy and eyebrow-raising poses. It’s the ultimate artist move: obey the rules just enough to stay employed, but break them in ways that make people talk about you for centuries. Finding the Funny in the Struggle Now, let’s inject some humor into this oh-so-heavy topic. Because if there’s one thing artists and kindergarteners have in common, it’s the ability to laugh at authority. Remember how your teacher used to say, “You can be anything when you grow up”? That’s a trap. They want you to aim for astronaut, not surrealist painter. But here’s the thing: surrealist painters have more fun. We spend our days putting clocks on tree branches and calling it deep. Astronauts? They’re stuck following the rules of physics. Boring. Or take the phrase, “Think outside the box.” Why is there even a box in the first place? Who put it there? And why is everyone obsessed with escaping it instead of decorating it with glitter and googly eyes? Closing Thoughts In the end, the artist’s role isn’t to destroy rules or blindly follow them. It’s to question them, bend them, and occasionally break them—preferably in a way that makes people laugh, cry, or at least say, “Huh, interesting.” So, the next time someone tells you to color inside the lines, grab a bigger piece of paper. Because rules are just suggestions, and suggestions are just opportunities for creativity to run amok. And who knows? Maybe that purple sky Timmy was painting back in kindergarten wasn’t “wrong” after all. Maybe it was just the future calling.  Image source: freepix.com Once upon a time in the frosty tundra of Antarctica, there lived a penguin named Bob. Bob was not your typical penguin. While his fellow tuxedoed friends were sliding on ice and diving into frigid waters for fish, Bob was huddled in his igloo, flipping through a glossy travel magazine he had fished out of the ocean. On the cover was a picture of a golden beach with swaying palm trees and crystal-clear waters.
“Why do we live in a giant freezer when this exists?” Bob wondered aloud, staring at the magazine like it held the secrets of the universe. His best friend, Pete, waddled in, shaking off snowflakes. “What are you mumbling about now, Bob?” “I’m moving to the tropics,” Bob announced dramatically, slapping the magazine on the ice table. “No more cold noses and frozen flippers for me.” Pete snorted. “The tropics? You’re a penguin. You’ll roast like a marshmallow.” “Nonsense,” Bob said, puffing out his chest. “I’m adaptable. Plus, think of all the coconuts I can eat!” Pete rolled his eyes. “Coconuts aren’t fish, Bob.” But Bob was undeterred. He spent the next week constructing a raft out of driftwood, old fishing nets, and a salvaged beach umbrella. His fellow penguins gathered around, shaking their heads as Bob tied everything together with kelp. “He’s lost it,” muttered Sheila, the elder penguin, adjusting her spectacles. “He’ll be back in a week,” Pete assured her. “Crying about sunburns.” Finally, the day came. Bob donned a pair of oversized sunglasses he had found floating near an iceberg and pushed his raft into the icy waters. “Farewell, suckers!” he shouted as the waves carried him away. “I’ll send you postcards from paradise!” For days, Bob drifted through the ocean, sunbathing on his raft and sipping imaginary piña coladas. He faced some minor setbacks—like a particularly grumpy seagull stealing his snacks and a near collision with a curious whale—but his spirits remained high. Finally, after what felt like forever, Bob’s raft bumped into a sandy shore. “Land ho!” he cheered, waddling onto the beach. The sand was warm and soft beneath his flippers, and the air smelled like salt and fruit. Bob was in heaven. He wasted no time embracing the tropical lifestyle. He fashioned a lei out of hibiscus flowers, learned how to climb palm trees (after a few embarrassing falls), and even attempted to surf using a broken piece of driftwood. The local crabs, who were initially baffled by the arrival of a penguin, soon grew fond of Bob’s antics. They formed a crab band and provided a soundtrack for Bob’s dance parties under the moonlight. But not everything was perfect in paradise. The heat was intense, and Bob’s feathers felt like they were perpetually stuck to his skin. His attempts at catching tropical fish were laughable at best, and coconuts, as it turned out, were impossible to crack open without tools. One day, he tried to crack a coconut by dropping it from a tree, only to have it bounce back and hit him square on the beak. “This place is trying to kill me,” Bob groaned, rubbing his sore beak. Still, Bob refused to give up. He adapted his diet to include mangoes and papayas, which he could peck open with some effort. He also started spending his afternoons lounging in the shade, fanning himself with palm fronds and dreaming of air conditioning. After a while he learned to help fishermen to locate fish, in return he got some fish and used blocks of ice to cool him. Easy living, Bob got it his paradise maybe not the permanent sunburned belly but look at this place! It’s beautiful!  A foolish idea came to me this morning. A “comparison between art and Bitcoin”, especially in how each relies heavily on perceived value rather than intrinsic, production-based value. Both art and Bitcoin indeed share qualities that set them apart from tangible goods priced on production costs or inherent utility. Here’s a breakdown of why this assumption has a basis. Artists came first Estimating the number of artists compared to the global population is tricky, especially because defining who counts as an "artist" is subjective some might say it's anyone who creates art, while others might consider only those pursuing art professionally. However, let’s try to form a rough estimate. According to various studies and reports from organizations like UNESCO and arts councils, around 1–3% of the global workforce might be involved in creative fields, which would encompass all kinds of artists, visual artists, musicians, writers, performers, etc. Given a world population of about 8 billion, this could suggest anywhere from 80 million to 240 million people might identify as artists or work creatively in some capacity. If we narrow this further to fine arts (visual artists, sculptors, painters), it could be closer to 0.1–0.5% of the population, which would mean around 8–40 million people globally. Of course, these numbers are very approximate, as they vary by culture, access to resources, and how each society defines and supports artistic work. Still, this range gives a sense of the rarity and diversity of artistic voices relative to the global population. Then came Bitcoin Created in 2009 by an anonymous individual or group known as Satoshi Nakamoto, Bitcoin is the world’s first decentralized digital currency. It operates without a central authority, relying instead on a peer-to-peer network and blockchain technology to manage transactions. Bitcoin’s blockchain is an immutable, transparent ledger that records all transactions, making it secure, tamper-proof, and resistant to censorship. Unlike traditional currencies, Bitcoin has a limited supply of 21 million coins, which adds scarcity and can increase its value over time. Bitcoin’s value is primarily influenced by demand, market sentiment, and its scarcity, making it highly volatile. Yet, its appeal lies in its potential as a store of value, an alternative to fiat currencies, and a hedge against inflation. Additionally, Bitcoin has sparked the broader adoption of cryptocurrencies and blockchain technology across various industries, from finance to supply chains. Over the years, Bitcoin has grown from a niche interest to a mainstream investment, with institutions and governments increasingly acknowledging its relevance. Its decentralized nature and disruptive potential continue to fuel debates about the future of money, privacy, and financial sovereignty, as Bitcoin challenges traditional systems and empowers individuals globally. 1. Value Perception and Demand
Bitcoin indeed have a strict limit—21 million coins—that makes it rarer, in a purely numerical sense, than artists. And its value is uniquely tied to market forces, demand, and scarcity. Unlike artworks, which are valued for their uniqueness, vision, or emotional impact, Bitcoin’s value is more abstract, often appealing to a desire for security, autonomy, and alternative assets. Art, on the other hand, is abundant in a more flexible way. There are countless unique works, each one distinct and with emotional or cultural significance that can’t be precisely quantified. However, art’s abundance in creativity doesn’t mean it’s universally valued—while everyone can feel emotions, the appreciation of art is deeply personal and subjective, and not everyone values it in monetary terms. Bitcoin’s fixed supply, combined with its appeal to people’s emotions, like the desire for freedom from traditional financial systems gives it a kind of universality that contemporary art often struggles to achieve. In this light, Bitcoin becomes almost like an emotional artifact itself, shaped by taste and desire for an alternate form of security, which, as you say, gives it an edge in global perception. Both art and Bitcoin are valued by perceived worth rather than any intrinsic production cost, leading to their volatility and speculative nature. However, each may still have different forms of “real” value. Art in its cultural or emotional impact and Bitcoin in its potential utility as a digital asset. So, we see that there are more artists than Bitcoins in the world, which means crypto is scarcer than creativity! But while art asks us to feel, Bitcoin asks us to hold, maybe that’s why one hangs on our walls and the other hides in our wallets. So next time you're wondering where to invest, remember, art might fill your soul, but Bitcoin could fill your portfolio… unless you end up buying art with Bitcoin, in which case, congrats—you’ve achieved peak modernity!  Every year, for reasons no one can exactly pinpoint, a growing number of artists decide to get better acquainted with a particular muse—one who doesn’t need a coffee invitation to show up. Instead, this muse has a reputation for showing up when you drink a suspicious-looking tea or munch on a handful of mushrooms. And she’s not a conventional muse, either. Let’s just call her "The Spirit of Psychedelia."
So, imagine an artist named Leo. Leo had a bit of a dry spell lately. His paintings look like someone left a latte out too long, all brown tones and boring blots. “You need inspiration,” says his friend Amelia, her eyes gleaming with the secret knowledge of someone who’s “been there, done that” with a side of vision quests. And before Leo knows it, he’s signed up for an Ayahuasca retreat held in a log cabin that smells vaguely of sage and patchouli. The first rule of this psychedelic retreat: Leave your ego at the door. The second rule? Don’t ask too many questions, because no one really knows what’s going on. It’s the mystery that counts. Leo, however, has lots of questions. Will he be able to paint a masterpiece? Will he see the universe? Will he see himself? Will he be able to find his shoes afterward? The retreat kicks off with a circle, everyone gazing into the fire, awaiting the magical brew. When Leo finally drinks it, it tastes somewhere between muddy water and regret. Not exactly the most inspiring flavor, but as the hours pass, things start to shift. Colors bloom from the fire’s embers, stretching and melting like neon taffy. The universe breathes in and out, and Leo suddenly feels that he’s got it all figured out. The forest around the cabin now feels like a wise old friend, and then it hits him: trees are alive. The trees know things. Maybe even some important things, like how to get rid of art block. He decides to ask one. “What should I do to create art people will remember?” he whispers to a giant oak. The oak considers him, at least he’s pretty sure it does, and answers, “Have you considered painting in green?” “Green?” Leo thinks, wondering if this ancient oak might be onto something. Or maybe it’s just a tree. Either way, he’s convinced, and he immediately files away the advice. Meanwhile, his friend Amelia, who's practically a pro, is off in her own world, having an intense conversation with a turtle. It’s enlightening stuff. "So you’re telling me that time…is a pond?" she murmurs, writing down the turtle’s wisdom. Leo takes notes as well, partly out of jealousy but mostly because he’s learned to trust talking animals under these circumstances. Hours later, the session ends, and Leo feels like he’s finally tapped into some sort of cosmic inspiration. He rushes back to his studio, all charged up with the power of the universe, and starts painting a grand, sweeping landscape, heavy on the green. For days, he can barely sleep, barely eat—he’s just painting, utterly convinced he’s capturing the world’s greatest truth. When he finally stands back, Leo realizes that his masterpiece looks suspiciously like a giant bowl of salad. Lots of green, yes. Very avant-garde. But not quite what he was hoping for. The spirit of psychedelia isn’t done with him yet, though. A week later, he decides to give the "Magic Mushrooms in the Forest" thing a go. This time he doesn’t want to paint salad greens; he wants real inspiration. So he heads to the woods with Amelia again, who’s now armed with an extensive philosophy about turtle-time. As soon as he takes the mushrooms, things get weird. And by weird, I mean an odd mix of amazing and slightly terrifying. He watches as a passing squirrel morphs into a tiny wise man who gives him a thumbs-up. Every branch and leaf hums with energy, vibrating in kaleidoscopic waves. He has visions—vivid, grandiose, ridiculous visions. He sees himself, Leonardo Da Vinci-style, standing on top of a mountain with paintbrushes raised to the heavens, demanding the universe to show him the secret to art. The clouds part, and out steps…an enormous mushroom, who speaks in riddles and smells faintly of parmesan. The Mushroom Muse is surprisingly direct. “What is art?” it booms. “Er…beautiful pictures?” Leo guesses, taken aback by the talking fungus. The mushroom rolls its eyes—yes, mushrooms have eyes here. “No, you fool. Art is a portal to infinity. It’s not about painting a tree. It’s about painting the spirit of a tree. Do you get it?” Leo nods solemnly, though he’s not sure if he really does. “So… less salad, more spirit?” The mushroom sighs but seems satisfied. “Fine. Let’s go with that. Now go, and paint like you’ve never painted before.” When Leo returns to his studio, he’s pumped. He starts painting again, this time without any plan or fear. He uses bold colors, paints with his fingers, even hurls some paint across the room in fits of passion. When he’s finally done, he has a sprawling, psychedelic masterpiece that feels less like a bowl of salad and more like the inner workings of his mind exploded onto the canvas. Friends come by, look at the painting, and nod in approval. “It’s… intense,” they say. After a few weeks, the painting makes it to his gallery. Critics and collectors gather around, each interpreting the piece in their own way. They whisper about the hidden meanings, the “soul of nature” they see in it. Someone even suggests that it’s a modern-day masterpiece, whatever that means. Leo, meanwhile, just chuckles. Because as much as he’d like to claim the painting is a cosmic revelation, the truth is: it was inspired by a talking mushroom with attitude and a bunch of bizarre visions. But hey, if the world sees enlightenment, who is he to argue? And as for Amelia? She’s found new inspiration as well, creating an entire series called Pond-Time, a set of surrealist paintings depicting wise turtles philosophizing about the universe. It’s…an acquired taste. But she swears by it. So, the moral of the story? Sometimes, the secret to great art is to stop taking it so seriously. Add a bit of magic, a pinch of humor, and maybe just a dash of mushroom wisdom, and let the universe fill in the rest. After all, as Leo discovered, you never know when a snarky mushroom will lead you to the masterpiece of a lifetime. Evolution of an idea by Elizabeth Hefty Khoury: from metaphorical landscape to snapshots of memory.
This blog stems from a shift I have experienced in my own work, moving from abstraction to a semblance of realism, from metaphor to the tangible. Our art is a deeply personal expression, the visual representation of our thoughts, feelings, observations, and experiences, distilled into a medium that, we hope, speaks to others. However, like any form of self-expression, an artist's journey is not static. Over time, our style, direction, and even our choice of materials may shift, evolve, and transform. For many artists, this change is not only natural but also essential to their personal growth and development. The Nature of Evolution in Art We can think of individual artists´ journeys as microcosms of history of art as a whole. From the earliest cave paintings to the contemporary works we see in galleries today, art has always been in a state of flux. As artists, we continuously absorb influences, encounter new ideas, and face challenges that force us to reconsider our approach. What begins as a form of exploration and experimentation often becomes a deeper, more refined expression of our inner world. Consider the path of an artist like Picasso who is known for his constant reinvention, moving from his Blue and Rose periods to Cubism, Surrealism, and beyond. Each shift in his work mirrored a shift in his own understanding of the world and himself. Likewise, the abstract expressionism of Jackson Pollock emerged not just as a break from traditional artistic forms, but as an act of personal liberation—an expression of his internal struggles, desires, and impulses. Artistic evolution, therefore, is not just about changing one’s visual language; it’s about the artist growing and evolving as a human being. Art as a Reflection of the Self One of the most compelling reasons artists shift their style is because they themselves are changing. Human beings are not static; our views, emotions, and even our senses of self evolve over time. The artist’s life is no different. A change in personal circumstances—whether a move to a new city, a shift in a relationship, or a new encounter with an idea or philosophy—can lead to a profound change in the way an artist creates. An artist who has spent years focusing on representational work might suddenly feel compelled to explore abstraction. This shift could be due to a new perspective on life, an interest in pushing the boundaries of visual language, or a reaction to broader cultural movements. It could also reflect the artist’s desire to express emotions or concepts that can’t be captured through traditional forms. As we grow and mature, so does our understanding of the world and ourselves—and art becomes the channel through which these new insights are communicated. Breaking Through Creative Blocks Many artists reach a point where we encounter creative blocks. These periods of stagnation are often seen as frustrating and discouraging, but they are also critical moments in the artistic journey. In fact, creative blocks can be powerful catalysts for change. When we hit a wall, it can force us to look inward, re-examine our work, and ultimately push us to explore new techniques, materials, and styles. What often begins as frustration or uncertainty can result in breakthroughs that lead to entirely new directions in our art. This process of trial, error, and discovery is not only vital to the development of new work but also to our sense of self. Each change in direction is a reflection of the artist’s willingness to let go of the past, embrace the unknown, and risk failure in order to discover something new. The Risk and Reward of Change Changing direction can be a risky endeavor for any artist. A shift in style might alienate old fans, spark criticism, or challenge the artist’s identity. After all, our signature style becomes synonymous with our brand and reputation. But despite the risks, many artists find that the reward far outweighs the fear of failure or backlash. Embracing change means pushing beyond the limits of comfort and familiarity. It’s about challenging one’s own boundaries and allowing new influences and ideas to enter the creative process. Even if the new work doesn’t resonate immediately with audiences, the very act of experimentation and self-discovery strengthens the artist’s voice. Ultimately, it’s the artist’s commitment to authenticity—no matter how our work may evolve—that sustains our journey. Art is a lifelong exploration, and an artist who remains true to their personal evolution will always create work that resonates on a deeper, more genuine level. Conclusion: Art as a Journey, Not a Destination The evolution of an artist’s style is not just a technical or aesthetic shift—it’s a reflection of our growth as a human being. Each change in style marks a new chapter in our personal journey, one that deepens our connection to our work and to the world around us. While some may fear the loss of our "signature" style, the most powerful art is often that which comes from a place of exploration, risk, and change. For an artist, evolving is not just an option; it is an imperative. It is through change that we continue to discover who we are, who we might become, and how we can engage with the world in new and meaningful ways. Ultimately, it’s not the consistency of an artist’s style that defines our legacy, but our willingness to evolve and embrace the unexpected turns in our creative path. |
