Artist Statement
I endeavor through my artwork to channel the spirit of childhood wonder, to observe and honor its essence in ephemeral moments of play and possibility before they fade. From our open, incomplete beginnings, formative experiences in the world give shape to our inner worlds—hopes, dreams, adventures—in impressionistic bursts.
As my vision has evolved, so have my chosen mediums. I began with graphite and charcoal, then shifted into watercolors and acrylic gouache, inspired by the likes of Japanese author-illustrators Chihiro Iwasaki and Komako Sakai.
Volunteering at a local Buddhist temple, I have had many opportunities to combine artistic engagement with public service: painting notes cheer or of gratitude for the board of directors, organizing the Buddhist Women’s Association to decorate a cultural tree for the White River Valley Museum, documenting annual Bon Odori, instructing both adults and their children in sumi-e painting, and collaging together greeting cards from recycling papers.
As I once described in a blog post titled, “Torn Apart,” after the devastating passing of my husband in 2016, I was compelled in new directions emotionally and artistically. In the wake of a 2018 workshop by Jennifer K. Mann particularly, collage became a new framework for me, reframing both my art and life. Like the slight turns that cascade a kaleidoscope’s contents, no two images—nor any two days in a life—appear the same.
Since attending the 2023 oil painting workshop of Michael Maczuga at the Scottsdale Artists School, I’ve begun to explore the fresh possibilities of yet another medium. It feels both exciting and daunting as the colors and shapes still stray from my intentions.
As my art proceeds to exalt the beautiful imperfection of the real, dappled with the dangers and enchantments of children’s stories, legends and fairytales, my artistic path remains illuminated by its North Star: “It’s all child’s play.”
How seriously as a child I played with the simple materials at hand: paper, pencil and crayons.
On the backs of the envelopes my grandfather saved for me, I would scribble his farm animals.
On rainy school days, I huddled with my best friend on the rough playground
concrete, under the steps of our 1953 portable, pressing raised
texture
bouquets from our favorite crayons onto
squares of toilet tissue, pilfered from the girls’ lavatory.I threaded ribbon to hinge together scallop shells, with collaged worlds of pressed seaweeds and remnants of tiny tidepool creatures between them, beachcombed from the summer.
In 1993, I spied my nine-year old son (then an aspiring ninja) tiptoeing through the streets and Shintō shrines of Yashiro.
Such are the memories that echo inside as I watch children play make-believe, ready to catch the loose threads of possibility and weave new worlds… It is these ephemeral moments of play and adventure that I hope to distill into my illustrations.
For selections of my professional history, please read my curriculum vitæ.
Contact: hansengarden at gmail dot com.