I think the responsibility of the artist is to give dignity to human emotion. First, my own. Then yours.
I approach a canvas like a therapy session - a place to tell secrets and navigate broken things. I get out of my head, and feel my way through a painting. I don’t sketch, draw, or plan it out. It begins with feeling, and my emotions cover the blank space.
I don’t see visions, I feel them. I navigate life with surrealism. I interpret life in images. Every piece of my work is a page in my life story. Like a map of sacred trails in the wilderness. It’s just one rugged path in one wonderous place, not the entire world or revelation of my face. My artwork is a piece of me, not the entirety of me. Scars tell a story.
It’s powerful when we find part of our story in someone else’s life. When we find someone who has been where we are, and they are not there anymore. They’re just a little bit further, and lit up the path. We need encouragement, not advice. My goal as an artist is to be that for you. I want you to feel inspired when you walk away. It’s just a bad day, not a bad life.
I aim to create a sustaining legacy of integrity and loyalty with my collectors, and I think it starts when our stories collide. The golden feeling for me is the conversations that spark, and we’re both left uplifed. The friendships I make with my collectors are very special to me.
Over the years, I’ve grown a love for writing, photography, and adventure as other avenues to keep my heart alive. Life evolves and my creative inclinations change and form along these currents. Catching a sunset with my husky, Levi, or sitting at a crackling fire and falling asleep to mountain sounds can heal my spirit in a way that painting on a canvas never can.
In 2016, my life was derailed when I contracted Lyme disease. I couldn’t make art, hike, or walk Levi down the block. This has been a lonley, painful, long spiral upward. After tens of thousands spent out of pocket on treatment, therapies, and lifestyle changes, I’ve got some sense of my life back, just enough to dream again, but still hindered daily. With achy joints, fatigue, memory loss, and brain fog holding on, I’m pouring all that I’ve got into my artwork. By purchasing my work, I am able to continue my healing journey and rebuild my life in Flagstaff, Arizona.
With the most heartfelt gratitude I can give, thank you for supporting a living artist. And his dog.
-W. Ayers