If you’ve been following along with me on Instagram, you’ll know that I recently completed a 7-day painting bootcamp from Sari Shryack’s Not Sorry Art School program.
I adore Sari’s work, and I learned so much more from her in 7 days than I ever thought possible. I have a lot I want to share with you about the experience, but I wanted to start with the last assignment—Day 7: Writing an artist’s statement.
Now, I’ve never written an artist’s statement before. I have no idea what they are supposed to look like. But the more I thought about it, and the more I reflected on my artistic journey so far, the more I‘ve realized that my artist’s statement—and my art—is really a love letter to Taiwan.
So that is what I wrote.
Here is my first ever artist’s statement (AKA a love letter to Taiwan):
Dear Taiwan,
We met in 2018, when I moved here from Colorado practically on a whim. Our love affair was meant to be short-lived—but here we are, five years later, and I am still head over heels for you.
Before we met, I admit, I fantasized about what you would be like. All of my expectations were completely wrong, as expectations tend to be… Well, all except one.
The fruit. I knew that you, as a tropical island, would have all the exotic fruits I could ever want. And boy, you did not disappoint. Here I’ve tried dragonfruit and passionfruit, winter melon and yellow watermelon (who knew that was a thing?), custard apples, wax apples, and dragon eye fruit. I’ve learned to cut a mango without hurting myself and to tell which pineapples are sweet by their color. I’ve picked fresh strawberries in your mountains and wondered if I’ll ever be able to eat a strawberry back home without feeling disappointed. I’ve grown handfuls of blueberries and oranges in my living room.
And what’s more, in your culture it’s customary to give fruit as a gift of welcome. So at times I’ve had bags of fruit thrust into my hands by total strangers, shouting “welcome to Taiwan!” over their shoulders. This again and again, no matter how long I’ve lived here. I am always welcome, and there is always fruit.
I’ve gotten lost in your many alleyways. I’ve felt safe wandering them alone, stumbling upon treasures and shortcuts. I’ve marveled at the beauty of your crooked buildings and mismatched doors, of the overflowing plants at every corner.
I’ve found refuge in your 7-Elevens, on your beaches, in your unwillingness to shy away from the cute, the colorful, the cartoonish.
I’ve been asked why I live here, and (because my Mandarin vocabulary is limited) I say the simplest version of the truth: Because it is beautiful. And each time, without fail, I am met with surprise: “Here? Beautiful?” And each time, my heart breaks for you.
Because you have taught me what beauty is; that it is more often found in the mundane than in the grandiose, in the little corners of our lives that we miss while we’re dreaming of something else.
You have given me the time and space to learn how to make art, and you’re what I wanted to paint when I first picked up a brush. Still, years later, I want the world to see you the way I do. I want the world to see itself the way you do, too. You are why I’m not afraid to be bold and silly and unpredictable.
And you’re the reason that—even now—when I’m not sure what to paint but I know I want to feel at home, I paint fruit.
Comments