Why Art Still Matters
There are moments lately when it feels like the world is on fire, and it’s easy to wonder what the point of art is in the face of all of it.
I’ve asked myself that question more than once over the past year. There are days when painting can feel small compared to the scale of what’s happening around us. And yet I keep returning to the work. What I’ve found, again and again, is that the act of making holds something steady when the world feels unsteady.
While it’s true that a painting on its own can’t change the cost of living, political unrest, or the many pressures shaping our lives, it can give us a moment to breathe, to gather strength, and to look clearly at what is happening rather than turning away. Sometimes that pause is enough to help us imagine ways forward that do not yet fully exist.
I find that the process of creating can also reflect the values we hope to see in the world: moving with intention and respect, living in reciprocity with life, and connecting with and listening to others.
I’m reminded often of a truth revealed in landscapes and echoed in many wisdom traditions: that because we are inextricably linked, the harm we cause to one another ultimately harms ourselves as part of a whole. Art, at its best, gives us a way to feel that truth rather than just think about it. It reaches us in ways that logic alone cannot, helping us remember that we are not separate from the world, but part of it.
This growing understanding is what continues to guide my work and my attention forward.
Collaboration as Listening
Lately, I’ve been finding that some of the clearest moments of hope and energy are coming through collaboration.
Last month I presented with my good friend and longtime collaborator Ruth Hoyt at Wild Birds Unlimited in McAllen. We interviewed each other about our respective processes and titled the talk Why We Walk So Slowly. The answer, at least for now, feels simple: We walk slowly in order to listen—both to one another and to the land. In collaborative spaces, when we listen and respond to one another, something new begins to take shape, an understanding that neither person could arrive at alone, often with a new a sense of energy and joy.
I’ve also recently begun a new collaboration with local poet Daniel García Ordaz, also known as the Poet Mariachi. Our exchanges, often humorous while deeply reflective, are opening new directions in my thinking and work. Though still in the early stages, the dialogue already feels rich and moving as we work toward a public presentation in April.
These conversations and shared projects are shaping my practice in ways I’m only beginning to understand.
