“Assemblage” by Michele Bledsoe
If you look at a photograph of me
you see the face I wear,
the body I walk around in
and a few items of clothing;
unlike my paintings..
which show you what I look like
on the inside.
“Under the Pillow” by Michele Bledsoe
No one rolls out of bed one day
and decides to be an artist..
you were meant to be one.
Even if you don’t answer the call for many years
it has always been there
inside you
waiting.
“Assemblage”… a work in progress by Michele Bledsoe
Although I have been exhibiting my work in galleries
for almost 20 years..
I have more or less dropped out of the public eye.
This does not mean
I have stopped painting..
that would be impossible.
The desire to create cannot be contained.
The work continues
behind closed doors
as constant
and as passionate
as the beating of my heart.
“Portrait of Munchkin Giggle-Sprinkles” by Michele Bledsoe
Recently, I put aside my work in progress..
and ignored a looming deadline
to pour myself into a special request –
A portrait of my sister’s beloved cat
who passed away last year.
This is what art is all about.
Not the galleries and the exhibits.
Not the personal attention
and public exposure…
it’s about the gift
and what you choose to do with it.
“The Ghost and My Obsession” by Michele Bledsoe
Several years ago I was sitting at my desk
in my high-level corporate job
and I had a terrifying vision.
I imagined myself far in the future
sitting at the same desk..
doing exactly the same thing
and wondering to myself
what life would have been like
if I had decided to pursue my art instead.
Not long after that, I quit my job..
and let my path take me to where I was meant to be
instead of where I thought I should go.
In life, as in art
we must be fearless.
Trust the gift.
“Playmates” by Michele Bledsoe
When I was little,
my grandparents had me completely convinced
that my toys were alive.
Sitting in my bedroom..
they would send me off to the kitchen
for a glass of water
or a peach.
When I returned,
I noticed that several of my toys
had somehow changed positions.
Sitting on the edge of my bed,
my Hungarian grandfather would point
to my bookshelf..
Sounding exactly like Bela Lugosi..
he would say, in a strangely dark and ominous tone
“Look, Michele.. the toys. They move.”
A work in progress by Michele Bledsoe
I am often surprised
when people have a hard time identifying
what is going on in my paintings.
It happens a lot.
“What is that… a face?”
they would ask..
squinting at my work.
“Is that part of a tree…?
I didn’t understand
why not everyone could see what I was seeing..
But, then again..
I suppose it would be somewhat disorienting
to find yourself thrust
without warning
into the deepest places
of a stranger’s heart.
Such is the power of art.
