Art can be intimidating. In talking with Chicho Lorenzo, Benita Mayo, Heather Owens, Michael Jones, and Megan Read, five visual artists currently working in Charlottesville, we’ve learned about each artists’ process, their comfort zones, and how they overcome their own fears when staring at a blank canvas or searching through a lens. Each one mentioned the value of community, and the vulnerabilities around putting creative output into the world. Their words offer a chance to find our own connections to the gifts of art.
The gardener
CHICHO LORENZO
Painter, muralist
Upon arrival in C’ville:
I came here in 2008 when Charlottesville was voted one of the best places to live in the U.S. When I moved here my English was very bad…people related to me as ‘he’s exotic, he’s a Spaniard’ and that was okay. I found the general atmosphere here to be peaceful, and it was a quiet town. To me it was a little bit of a utopia. I’ve come to this place and everybody is happy.
A collective muse:
My work, and I would say my whole life, is very based in mutual cooperation. I don’t take credit for what I make, what I paint. For what I create, I take credit in terms of what I practice every day, so my hand knows. But my topics are very influenced and affected by what is happening around me.
Sowing the seeds of art:
A mural is like a garden. You take care of a garden and things can grow from there.
The mural on Barracks Road had an issue with graffiti on the wall, and I incorporated it. On this mural, there is a figure of a girl with a magic wand, leading the parade. Somebody painted the symbol for Om in white on the tip of her wand, and I thought, “That is super cool. It adds the magic to the magic wand.” I don’t know who painted it, but it makes it a community work.
On art’s impact:
Artists, in many ways, are responsible for creating the impossible. I can draw whatever. If I paint it, if I draw it, it becomes real for you when you see it.
When painting the mural at MAS tapas, there was a guy outside all the time who talked to me very often. He told me, “Mother always wanted me to have a farm.” So I painted a little farm for him far away in the distance, and he got so happy. That is an example of what [art] gives to people in small ways.
The enchantress
HEATHER OWNES
Illustrator, painter
Asking questions:
For me, my work is a way to ask questions and not necessarily answer them. Some artists present a problem. Mine are just questions.
I get a lot out of hearing from people who are viewing the work. They all feel very personal because I always have something in my mind that’s related to my home life, my personal life, or something that’s going on in the world.
On planning:
I do come with inspiration and (with watercolors) I come with a lot of preliminary sketching. I’ve come in without a plan before and I just end up with a mud painting. So I really have had to plan out more than I used to and it’s been a really good experience.
On making mistakes:
I had a professor who said that the difference between good art and great art is being able to completely ruin a piece by doing something that you think might make it better. That’s something I try to keep in my head as I am working. You have to be willing to completely mess something up.
The art of nature:
I grew up hiking and I used to go off in the woods all the time. I just love finding small unobserved things. Like you go out and see animals interacting of course, but I always enjoyed finding weird insects under rocks, I enjoyed finding these details of life that you don’t normally observe or are not normally privy to. The small interconnected pieces of life that happen in these out of the way places that impact the overall world.
I overheard two people talking about my work and saying it reminded them of Henry Darger. And that made me really happy to hear. He does these incredible paintings of forests with little girls in them. Kind of creepy and fairytale-inspired and I think that’s very much the kind of imagery I tend toward in my work.
The forest feels very familiar and safe to me but also has that element of being wild and uncertain at the same time. I think that duality is something I do try to look for in my work. Being in a place that is both familiar and unfamiliar.
The mystic
BENITA MAYO
Photographer, meditation & yoga instructor
Portrait of an artist:
I am coming into the word artist. I’ve never used the word to describe myself before. Photography is my jam. In a way it’s become a very important part of my life and in others it’s become a meditation for me. It allows me to escape and allows me to get to know myself better. Some might call it contemplative photography.
On catching the shutterbug:
It’s been an evolution. When my grandmother retired from teaching she would go on trips and come back with all these photos. She was documenting, and I think in a way I have become an extension of that.
I was getting ready to take a trip to Europe, and thought, “I cannot go to Italy and bring back awful pictures. I just cannot do it.”
I went on my trip…even hired a professional photographer to take me around Florence. He had access to the Duomo, and took me way up in this apartment building that had a perfect view. I took that photo, brought it back…and entered it into competition and got a blue ribbon.
That was it. I didn’t think I would fall in love with the craft. But that little taste encouraged me to want to know more about the art of photography and study the craft.
On the C’ville effect:
Ironically I came back in August 2017 when August 12 happened and all the craziness. That was something I didn’t recognize and that was really weird for me. When I was a student here (in the ’80s), I’m not sure I was as in tune to what was happening with the University and the community.
I think what’s happened in the Charlottesville community has probably helped me to tap into some feelings that I wasn’t even aware of. It’s also made me more curious about lots of things. More curious about the people I meet, things that I hear, things that I see. It’s almost hard to articulate.
Knowing in the moment:
I was in Taos, New Mexico, and I met this gentleman. His name was Augustine, and I found his face to be so interesting. His eyes had a deepness. I could see his soul through his eyes.
We start to talk, and I begin to realize that he and I are the same.
He was Native American, I was African American. He was male, I was female. Other than that, there were so many things that overlapped.
He invited me into his home that he was building. I later found out that that is something that almost never happens. Just in the span of 15 to 20 minutes we had formed this connection.
I can see it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. He was sitting in his truck and I just remember seeing this glimpse, this knowing, so to speak. And I took the photo. I call it my first real portrait.
On staying focused:
My yoga and my meditation practices teach me to approach things with a beginner’s mind. It’s very freeing when you do that. You let go of any preconceived notions, it allows you to let go.
Yoga and photography kind of work hand in hand together. My meditation practice, my yoga practice inform my photography and I see photography more like poetry now.
The storyteller
MICHAEL JONES
Filmmaker, writer
On self-motivation:
My main medium is motion pictures, so film and video. I started writing first, but I didn’t go to school for any of those things. I’m self-taught. As far as filmmaking is concerned, I have had on-the-job training with various companies in the area, but most of what I know is a result of my own research, my own studies, my own experimentation.
Choosing your passion:
I really found my passion for cinema when I started interacting with filmmaking groups and getting hands-on experience. I realized there really wasn’t anything else I wanted to do for my career.
The idea of struggling with and doing something that you like seemed like a better idea. So in 2019, I said goodbye to the full-time job and started filmmaking full-time.
Letting the ideas out:
After a certain point of working or experimenting in the various mediums, you’re not necessarily forcing ideas out anymore, they are just kind of coming to you organically.
It’s kind of a nebulous thing, but it just appears in my head. It’s sometimes sparked by something in daily life sometimes not. It’s hard to describe how it comes about. If I don’t do anything, an idea will sit in my head and bug me. So I have to get it out. That applies to whatever I do, whether that’s writing, or photography, or filmmaking.
On following the narrative:
Constantly working is important to me so I tend to do a lot of documentary work. But I am constantly writing ideas for fictional films. I’m only starting to get around to making this happen.
If you had to describe me based on my current portfolio, you’d describe me as a documentary filmmaker, but that’s not how I feel. I feel like a different type of filmmaker.
The illusionist
MEGAN READ
Painter, illustrator
An even-handed approach:
All of my paintings are meticulously created in oil, sometimes on linen and sometimes on panels, and in general these quiet, shadowy works revolve around traditional elements like flowers or the nude figure (or both) but often include contemporary references. And I paint hands. Lots of hands.
Emerging as an artist:
It was the thing that always came naturally. I remember when I was about 7, and already an avid drawer, being shown by a friend of the family how not to draw what I thought I knew, but only the light and shadow, the shapes, how to use my eyes, and feeling like everything changed. But it never occured to me that it was a career option.
I suppose having my first successful solo show was the thing that made me feel like this was officially “a thing” but even now, no matter how well things go and how far my work travels, the imposter syndrome is strong. Probably always will be.
On Charlottesville:
When I began showing I didn’t think there was a chance that anyone here would be interested in actually buying my work and, on the contrary, there has been such an outpouring of support I am still reeling. And with the internet connecting all of us so easily, not being in a big city hasn’t made much difference in terms of connecting with galleries and participating in international shows so it’s been a very comfortable place to be.
It hasn’t really influenced my process or the content of my work, but has certainly made a huge difference in allowing me the space to create the work that I want to.
Art is a battlefield:
People think that painting must just be this lovely, pleasant pasttime and sometimes that couldn’t be further from the case. It’s true that the reason I loved drawing and painting from the beginning was because it is soothing in certain ways, it’s an escape, and it works with my tendency towards hyperfocus (in very specific areas). But, with painting there is at least as much time where it feels like an all-out war where nothing works the way I want it to. Where I can’t control this ridiculous gooey substance. Where paintings fall off of easels. Where I am sure that whatever I am working on couldn’t possibly turn into something worth looking at. Where I wonder why I bother and it seems impossible. And then there is light again.
So the paintings from the outside are serene and quiet in most cases, but the process of their creation is the most tumultuous thing I have ever experienced and it goes in waves.
