Your work has very ephemeral, whimsical, and inviting qualities to it.
I’m fascinated with color and what happens to it when mixed with different degrees of light. Like everyone, I have demons and ghosts in my life. When they come to the surface, I try to exorcise them through the paint. Eventually, they are worked out and turned into the colors on my canvas. I am finally at a place in my life where I feel confident and secure. This newfound maturity seems to be beginning to show in my paintings. I get joy out of people finding a sense comfort and balance in my work.
What has drawn you to create abstract expressionist works? Your use of color and placement is remarkable and somewhat detailed. There is a wonderful sense of balance.
A successful painting has balance and structure. Parts of the painting that look like it may have been randomly painted, very well might have. I call those first, naïve marks, “happy accidents.” But then, there is always a counteractive stroke placed in order to balance it. For every action, there is always a reaction that must center and keep the painting from falling apart. It has taken me a long time to figure that out. My mother was an abstract expressionist and because of that, I think abstract painting was a natural style for me to develop. I recently saw a painting I did in kindergarten and couldn’t believe how similar the style is to what I have now. That small child had an innate sense of color. I was playing with color and light even back then. I am a probably a great example of the power of both nature and nurture.
You grew up on Long Island and have spoken about being greatly influenced by the water. Why is it so special to you?
There is a special light found only at the beach that plays off of the sand and sea. You go through a transformation there, both mentally and physically. I love the way the light changes throughout the day from hot, bright and vivid in the morning to gold and soft at around 5 pm. Some of my color sense must come from watching this.
Can you describe the process by which you create your artworks?
I’d like to say that I start out with a plan, but most often I don’t. Sometimes, I have a landscape in mind or a figure. Usually it’s based on a color story I want to explore. It’s not until halfway through that I realize, “That’s where I’m going with this.” At times, I let the painting tell me what it is. Often I will need to walk away from the painting so I don’t overdo it. It always amazes me that overnight, without anyone touching it, it seems to change all on its own. I think that being able to take a break comes with age, wisdom, and security as an artist. You need to trust that your painting will tell you what to do, where to go and when it’s done. I have finally found and started listening to that inner voice. I think it’s a gift and involves a lot of discipline to follow. It also helps to work on multiple paintings at once.
How much of yourself, your emotions and feelings, would you say is revealed in your art?
I have a lot of compassion and empathy for other people yet I’m also careful about how much I share. As an artist, at times you feel like you’re being stripped bare with each piece you create. You seem to straddle this fence of how much do I give and how much do I keep. If you give everything, you are left with nothing.
Knowing all of this, I have come to see that I have the power to reveal as much of myself as I want in each painting. Sometimes my titles are somewhat coded. Only I know the true meaning of the painting. By not revealing too much, I am able to feel in control of these deeply personal pieces I have now made public. The viewer may wonder, ‘What was she thinking? Was she falling to piece when she painted that? Was she in love? Was she happy?’ People will always draw their own conclusions and I can accept that. I am allowing them to find their own stories in my paintings. Suddenly, my art becomes interactive.
Can you describe your first memories of making art?
When not at the beach, summer days as a child were spent painting in the back yard. My mom would buy giant rolls of butcher paper and roll it across the lawn. Five little girls would spend the day painting as she cheered us on. She encouraged us all to have an “art voice” and to use it daily. As a mother and teacher, her studio time was limited, but she made it work. She was always honing her craft and getting better. Unfortunately, she died too young and missed that next level she was about to reach as an artist. Sometimes, I feel like I owe it her to make it happen. I need to continue her legacy.
You have come so far, your path taking many different turns. Seeing your work today, how would you describe its progression?
I feel like I am in a calm, happy and incredibly creative space right now. It is a place I have worked long and hard to get to.
After losing my sister on 9/11, I stopped painting for many years. I found it to be too difficult to allow myself to go into that arena of uncertainty you feel when you paint. I had none of the trust I needed to see a piece through. It was easier to just walk a way from painting then to face all of the darkness. It wasn’t until I began my desperate search for light, that a paintbrush found its way back into my hand. It hadn’t occurred to me that painting is what might heal me.
I like to connect to and evoke an emotional response from others. It’s a powerful feeling to be able to do that. I think my work is about all of the light and color I’ve allowed to return to my life. I’m continually humbled when people buy my work and so honored to become a part of their home and life.
I know how incredibly blessed I am and will forever be thankful that I returned to painting. I am grateful for the “art voice” my mother gave me and for the first time in years, feel like I have something important to say.
Theresa Barbaro
