Here, Kitty Kitty

For some time, I questioned why painting animals, specifically cats of late, comes more naturally to me than painting humans.  As figurative subjects, cats are creatures with a fascinating body shape, capable of twisting themselves into contorted forms impossible to those of us with collarbones.  Cats are apex predators who have trained humans to wait on their every need while play acting their ferociousness through pink sticks with dangling strings.  This absurd juxtaposition of power and play creates sources of narrative that are as playful as they are intense.

 

But for you to look at these oil paintings of cats is for you to witness how I experience love and connection.   As anyone who has also survived complex trauma can attest, the constancy animals can provide serves as a better model, a safer model, of unconditional love.  My cats see me as a failed feline, a provider, an attendant, but mostly as a safe harbor.  They trust that I will show up and care for them and, in exchange, they offer me physical and spiritual protection, and affection that comes without strings attached unless dangled from the aforementioned pink stick. 

 

As you look at these paintings, I ask you to consider your own relationship with love, where it lies, with whom, and how these connections make you feel safe and grounded.  Although you may not be a “cat person,” as human animals, we are hard-wired to seek community and care—and wherever we find it, we should pause and honor our experience without judgement and without questioning its validity.

I want for us to recognize not just the obvious, but the overlooked; not just the grand, but the granular; not just what we have assumed to be true, but what has always been true, waiting for us to finally pay attention.