From the Middle Room to the Mountains: The Artist Within
I’ve perpetually sought out art ever since I was a very small child; when I couldn’t find what I was looking for, I had to create it myself. My cousin Ronnie was my first art teacher. He taught me to draw faces. One of my earliest memories of getting in trouble with my parents was because of drawing. I’d added a new, decorative element to my home in Philadelphia: a nightscape of hand-drawn stars on my mama’s newly papered living room wall and lampshades.
Even then, I was influenced by and drawn to depictions of the natural landscape; however, this early work was not well-received. Luckily, my parents were encouraging and redirected my creative efforts to what we called “The Little Room,” a small room whose ancient, crumbling wallpaper became my new canvas. I was allowed to draw on its walls, and I remember hours spent composing colorful tableaus and murals in crayons and paint. My father worked as an industrial papermaker, and he would bring home stacks of recycled “paperboard,” which I would also fill with color and manipulate into collages.
I eventually graduated from “The Little Room” to an actual studio at Penn State University, where my enthusiasm to study art led me to ask, “Where are the Black artists?” None of my professors seemed to have an answer.
I knew — or sensed — that there was a burgeoning Black Arts Movement, but my enthusiasm was somewhat frustrated; I would have to find my own path toward those artists and thinkers. Pattee Library at Penn State became a significant source of guidance; it became my refuge and my gold mine, where I began to introduce myself to minds and talents missing from the standard arts curriculum offered at PSU. Artists such as Romare Bearden, Hale Woodruff, Elizabeth Catlett, Norma Morgan and Henry O. Tanner came into my consciousness, inspired me and informed my work.
Several years after I graduated, Richard Mayhew organized a conference and concurrent exhibition of Black artists called Since the Harlem Renaissance. This was exactly what I had been looking for. I traveled to State College with just enough money for a one-way fare, figuring that I’d find a way to get back to Philly later.
The figures that I had previously only read about at the library were suddenly standing in front of me, and I could meet and speak with them. It was as if they’d come to life from the pages of the books to stand as a testament to my longing.
This personal connection with a community of artists might be seen as the beginning of my lifelong work in the arts outside of my studio practice. I am fed spiritually, intellectually and creatively by the wonderful artists and thinkers with whom I interact professionally and personally, whether in positions such as my current capacity as a member of the California Arts Council or simply as an educator, longtime friend, peer or protégé. In turn, I’m proud to know I have provided them some sustenance — whether by teaching, networking, making introductions and facilitating relationships, or by feeding them more literally: Sometimes, artists just need a good glass of wine, a meal and a sympathetic ear.
Besides the library, the other aspect of Penn State that fed me creatively was the curriculum’s strong emphasis on landscape: looking closely at the environment and using the natural world as subject matter. My most influential painting and drawing teachers, George Zoretich and Stuart Frost, said things like, “Can you draw a hand? No? All right, fine — go get an anatomy book and learn to draw a hand. But first, go outside and draw five trees and their corresponding leaves…”
They both insisted on spending hours outside, scrutinizing the landscape. This was perfect for me. I relished plein air painting, but eventually found it useful to take photographs as a reference to work from, as the natural light was prone to dramatic changes. As a result, in a sort of classical twist, painting actually taught me to compose photographs.
At the Baltimore Museum of Art I was surrounded by a treasure trove of masterworks by artists such as Matisse, Gauguin, Cézanne, Kensett, Stella, Rauschenberg and other European artists — but also a collection of African, Native American and pre-Columbian art. The museum specialized in modern art, which meant sculpture and photography were just as emphasized as painting, so I began to see photography as an art form as well as a device for documentation. The works of James Van Der Zee, Aaron Siskind, Gordon Parks, Cindy Sherman, Roland Freeman, Cary Beth Cryor and others all expanded my consciousness and knowledge of photography as an art.
And it was while at the museum when I began to travel more widely for the sake of art, making my first trip to Africa, where I painted every chance I got and began to seriously take photographs.
The world of human activity is unpredictable and can make a person feel crazy; in creating artworks that depict the landscape, I try to catalyze a moment of reflection. I am able to breathe, relax and encounter an overwhelming visual beauty while creating these works, and I hope that the same meditative breath is transferred to the viewer. At the same time, there is a subtly political dimension to depicting the landscape: I hope that thoughts of naturalism, the environment and conservation are not far from the viewers’ minds as they consider the extraordinary wellspring of inspiration that surrounds us both at home and the world over.
Nashormeh Lindo is the Chair of the California Arts Council. Her story, “From the Middle Room to the Mountains: The Artist Within” is excerpted from the book All the Women in My Family Sing: Women Write the World — Essays on Equality, Justice and Freedom. Reprinted with permission of Nothing But The Truth Publishing, LLC. Copyright 2018 edited by Deborah Santana. Cover banner art by Favianna Rodriguez.
