Cultivating Place
I paint portraits of places. Seed ideas are often tied to my lived experience, but I also conjure elements from my memory and imagination. As soon as the first layers of color are born on the painting’s surface, I fold in a response to the paint itself: its textures, colors, and finally, its emotional timbre.
When I was very young, I recall the sweet, heady scent of an oleander garden, where I had followed my Mother on a rare solitary walk. I was not supposed to find her, but I was drawn there: by her, by the tropical filtered light, and by the soft pinwheel petals.
Now my own daughters are following me. My youngest girl traces a map on my shirt with her index finger. Our home circles my collar, her preschool is a pause on the middle-most button, and her sister’s school: down by my shirtail hem. One day she will be looking beyond that intimate scale, perhaps hundreds or thousands of miles, a generation forward in time. I think about this when I paint aerial maps. When I invite the girls to taste the juicy color of papaya. When my brush traces water from faucet to river to ocean. When I remember my origin, and teach them about our natural home. With these paintings I share my story for travelers to come.
Emily Vigil
I paint portraits of places. Seed ideas are often tied to my lived experience, but I also conjure elements from my memory and imagination. As soon as the first layers of color are born on the painting’s surface, I fold in a response to the paint itself: its textures, colors, and finally, its emotional timbre.
When I was very young, I recall the sweet, heady scent of an oleander garden, where I had followed my Mother on a rare solitary walk. I was not supposed to find her, but I was drawn there: by her, by the tropical filtered light, and by the soft pinwheel petals.
Now my own daughters are following me. My youngest girl traces a map on my shirt with her index finger. Our home circles my collar, her preschool is a pause on the middle-most button, and her sister’s school: down by my shirtail hem. One day she will be looking beyond that intimate scale, perhaps hundreds or thousands of miles, a generation forward in time. I think about this when I paint aerial maps. When I invite the girls to taste the juicy color of papaya. When my brush traces water from faucet to river to ocean. When I remember my origin, and teach them about our natural home. With these paintings I share my story for travelers to come.
Emily Vigil
