These drawings are by my friend escargod.
I consider her to be a better artist than me.
And… I don’t want you to tell me I’m wrong about that. You don’t have to say, “It’s okay, Licia, you’re good, too.” People say awesome stuff about me already. This post is just for Julie’s stuff and why I like it and how I feel about what art actually is. I don’t want anyone to interrupt, okay?
I think art is not about realism. It’s not about being accurate. It can be, sure, but that’s not how I measure it. For me, good art looks at you, and you look back, and you have a conversation, and it’s a very honest conversation. It doesn’t have to be pleasant. It doesn’t have to blow your mind. You don’t have to be shocked about it. But it makes you listen, you know? Sometimes, I just want art to talk to me. I don’t want to be amazed by some trick. I don’t want to be swept away.
When I look at Julie’s art, I have a conversation with it. I know exactly the sound of her subjects’ voices. I know exactly what background noise or music is playing in the room they’re sitting in and whether or not it distracts from our conversation. I know what the colors she uses sound like. I know what the colors feel like. I imagine her subjects moving, shifting, pointing, smiling. It’s very easy to do.
I like a lot of art. I’ve sorted through tons of it. Most of the art I admire is very pretty or fantastic in some way. It allows me to escape. Even if it’s hideous monsters or austere black spaces, it’s still an escape.
But Julie’s art isn’t an escape. It’s looking down at your own feet and seeing where they’re going. It’s putting your ear to the walls and hearing a voice whisper back, “this way.” It’s someone standing next to you and resting their hand on your shoulder and letting you know you’re not by yourself.